


Once Upon a Time

by DutchXfan



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Epic, F/M, Foof, shipperfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-21
Updated: 2005-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 129,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DutchXfan/pseuds/DutchXfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan takes Marie on a road trip after graduation. Their happy-go-lucky plans soon change into their worst nightmares. -- Lots of foof, angst and darkness, all in one ginormous fic. Picks up after X1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start to read, I'd like to tell a little background info about this mess. It all started out innocent enough: me thinking about a way of letting Logan find out about his childhood after reading Origin (comic). It was plain and simple. But then, when I was writing already, the plot started to develop. Since I wanted to write a post X1-fic, I had to include Alkali Lake as well. I couldn't deny poor Logan that part of his past, so I found a way to stir it into the story and felt smug. And then, just when I thought I had it all sorted out, I got greedy and felt I wanted to include Animal!Logan and a shitload of drama after reading one of JJ’s (awesome) stories. What the hell. If you want to write, WRITE, damnit! And so I ended up with foof and angst and darkness, all in one ginormous fic. 
> 
> A trigger warning for sexual abuse/sexual violence applies. I hope you won't take it too lightly. If you’re still interested, I’d say: enjoy the ride! (Beta by tinhutlady, jjblazer, xbedhead, devildoll and vee_mon.)

Once upon a time.

Don’t you think these are the most fascinating words ever? They represent an entire universe on their own, a world which includes princesses, princes, knights and witches. And while we’re at it, we might as well throw in an evil stepmother and a couple of ugly stepsisters. Hell, you want dwarfs and elves, too? Sure, go ahead. It’s a package-deal anyway.

Yes, those little words were an opening to our fantasies once. And now, they are a crack in time. They take us back to our childhood, just for a brief moment. Back then, those words were a promise of something pleasant. When evil things happened, there were always heroes to take care of it all. It was something we all wanted. Something we believed in. 

Today, we ought to know that stories starting with those words are plain crap. Fairy-tales, myths, or legends we call them. ‘Cause you see, there is an unspoken rule in fiction-land. When you start with ‘Once upon a time’, you have to end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’. And you know what? Real-life stories simply don’t end that way. No one lives ‘happily ever after’. Absolutely no one.

Nevertheless, ‘Once upon a time’ were the words I heard when I found out about Logan’s past; words that represented the beginning of his life. The real life of a real person. Not a fairytale about princes and princesses, and certainly not with the ‘happily ever after’ ending.

While staring at the man I still love more than life itself, I wonder: could life be any more cruel?

* * *

**~ 10 weeks earlier ~**

“You sure you want this?”

Logan’s standing in the doorway of my room, hands casually in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes narrowed. He is scanning me, reading my body language and smelling my scent. I don’t care though. I’m used to being transparent to him by now. I kinda like it that I don’t have to hide my feelings for him most of the time. It’s a comforting thought that he knows me, really knows me, and still likes me as a person.

“Of course!” I say. “We’ve talked about this all the time.”

We had. Logan would take me on a trip to Anchorage after graduation, just like I’d planned when I was still Marie instead of Rogue. Just like I was heading to when I met him in Laughlin City. Just like I was dreaming of again these past few months during studying and catching up with the others. 

I need to get away from everything and everybody. I’ve been so busy trying to pass my exams, I hardly had any time to think about what’d happened at the Statue of Liberty and while I was on my own. And now, I can’t let myself think about it until I have time to fall apart. When I do, I want to be far away. What better place to shred into pieces than Anchorage? I’ll have Logan by my side to pick me up, put me back together like a jigsaw puzzle, and kick my ass into gear again. I have it all figured out. 

Eyeing Logan, I think of his support during my personal battle to overcome my lost months on the streets. He wasn’t around much, but when he was here, he supported me every way he could. He brought me food and drinks when I forgot to eat, he sent me to bed when I was almost sleepwalking but still trying to study for an exam, and he took me out for a movie, dinner or lunch when I needed a break. He was looking out for me, being my friend. He even seemed to enjoy himself in my presence, so it was basically a win-win situation. And then, of course, there was his promise to take me with him when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. 

You see, I’d studied all night for Algebra only to end up with a serious hallucination of dancing parabola’s and ellipses before my eyes. I wondered if knowing all that crap would be useful someday. Like, on a mission I’d say, ‘Impressive blast you got there, Cyclops. It’s a perfectly tangent to the curve of Mystique’s left breast.’ I mean, duh!

So, I was about to surrender to hysteria when Logan entered my room and asked me why the hell I was still studying at 4 am. I couldn’t answer him. I was still lost in my paranoiac curve-trip, and I started to giggle. He knew then I needed something to cling to, and he told me he’d take me away to Anchorage after graduation. 

He couldn’t have made me happier. 

From that day on we’d discussed our plans, talked to the Professor about everything, and we’d both been looking forward to the day we would pack our bags and leave. It was only because of his promise to take me on my dream-road trip that I’d managed to make it without suffering a serious burnout. I graduated – although barely - without any real consequences of my eight-months delay, so now, I’m about to throw my clothes in a duffel bag and leave with my multiple saviour to have my foolish teenage dreams fulfilled.

Suddenly, a sickening thought strikes me. Was it just an empty promise? Logan is a man true to his word, so it can’t be. Still, seeing his unreadable look, I feel disappointment washing over me. I have to ask him.

“Are you backing out?”

I might be crystal clear to him, but I still have a hard time reading his moods. He lets down his guard often enough once we’re alone, but I can’t see through his poker face if he doesn’t want his emotions to be seen. He shows them now, though. The disappointment I feel mirrors his features.

“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that,” he says calmly, lowering his intense gaze for just a second and leaning against the wooden doorframe, crossed arms over his chest. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t--,” I trail off, feeling guilty about mistrusting in him. He’s never let me down before. How could I doubt him now? Even if it was for just a second, I’m ashamed of myself. We’re always honest with each other. 

“I meant,” he explains calmly, “are you sure you want to take this trip with *me*? I’m not the most cheery guy around.”

He is being dead-serious, but I can’t help but grin. “Well sugar, the way I see it, *you’re* the one who’s going to be stuck with a teenage girl with deadly skin and a killer instinct during PMS.”

A lopsided grin enters his face. “Damn. I knew there was a catch.”

I playfully throw a ball of socks at him, but, like I expected, he simply dodges to the side and avoids it with ease. 

“Too bad.” I laugh. “You’re *so* going to get my ass to Anchorage, just like you promised.”

Chuckling, he enters my room and sits down on my only chair. “Okay. Time for a serious talk.”

I’d started packing again, but now I freeze in the midst of sorting out my underwear. Raising just one eyebrow, a quirk I’ve taken from him, I ask, “About what?”

“Embarrassing moments.”

He must have seen my complete loss, because he starts explaining again. “We’re going to spend a lot of time together. Living that close 24/7 will surely cause embarrassing moments. I want to get rid of them before we start this trip.”

I consider his answer. I haven’t really given it much thought. I know we’re probably going to sleep in just one room sometimes, but we agreed on taking turns when it comes to the bed. I didn’t even dare to fantasize about Logan sharing a bed with me. Deadly claws meet deadly skin. We’ve seen that one before and it wasn’t anywhere near romantic. Besides, considering the fact that Logan never thinks about me in a romantic kind of way, there’s really no need to daydream about sharing a bed together to begin with.

Hey, I can be realistic if I set my mind to it.

Still, he has a point. We are friends, good friends, but, like I’ve said, we’re not lovers, and even though we live together in this house, our relationship isn’t anywhere near being intimate. Our friendship isn’t enough to walk around in the nude and still feel comfortable, deadly skin aside. Not that I have the tendency to expose myself in his presence, but yeah, he definitely has a point. 

“I see,” I nod and then another thought comes to mind. “I didn’t think you were embarrassed that easily though.”

That makes him smirk and he’s going all blunt on me. “I’m travelling with a girl who’s mentally seen my point of view while I jerk off. That pretty much takes me beyond embarrassment.”

Now I feel myself flush all shades of red because he’s caught me off guard. “Jesus Logan! I don’t need a recall of *those* memories.”

He seems indifferent and casually shrugs one shoulder. “It’s true.”

“Yeah well, thanks for the replay. Might come in handy during lonely nights.” 

He just sort of grins mischievously while I try to shake off the images of Logan stroking himself. Goddamnit, it's not something I want to remember. Not now, when the object of those x-rated thoughts is only five feet away. I thought I’d buried them in the back of my head, but the vision still lingering right before my eyes is very clear: he's left-handed. 

Is it hot in here or what?

Still relaxed, Logan continues, “That’s what I mean. We’re going to have a few of those moments and I don’t want you to dwell on them, okay?”

I never knew talking about embarrassing moments was that awkward. 

“Wait, what?” I frown. “I’m not going to see you masturbating, am I?”

Now Logan has the courage to laugh. Loudly. He almost roars. Between catching his breath, he manages to choke, “Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me someday, kid. Don’t worry, I’m not *that* much of an exhibitionist.”

Hey, I’m being all mature here. I can handle this little tête-à-tête.

“Okay, what are we talking about then? Things like desperately needing to pee while the other one is in the shower or something?”

“Yeah, those kind of moments.”

“I see. Well, I’m sure I’ll live.” I shrug, although, honestly, I’ll think I’ll probably die of out humiliation if Logan catches me showering. Or peeing. Or peeing while showering. Oh, my god, the horror!

“Good, ‘cause I don’t feel like going through an uncomfortable-silence-treatment after you’ve seen me waking up with a hard-on.” 

He casually waves his hand in the air like it’s nothing, and I guess to him it is. For me, however, it’s something entirely new. Waking up with a man with a hard-on in the same room isn’t just daily routine. And not just any man. It’ll be Logan with a hard-on. Christ, here come those x-rated images again.

“No problem,” I manage to say anyway. “I can handle it. Not even worth the hassle.” I even sound quite relaxed. Good. Because I know I won’t freak out. I’m sure I won’t. I hope. 

Oh shit, why didn’t I think about these things before?

Of course, Logan looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Stretching out in my chair, shirt riding up a little and showing me a sneak peek of dark hairs disappearing behind his belt buckle and into his jeans, he says, “And no whining when your shirt ends up halfway your waist while you’ve been sleeping and you’re flashing me your ass in a pink satin thong. Deal?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Only in your dreams, sugar. But hey! How do you know I wear thongs, anyway?” 

He doesn’t say anything, but when I follow his gaze, I notice that I’ve been waving around that particular pink satin thong throughout our entire conversation. 

“Oops.” I chuckle. “I guess that’s another embarrassing moment, huh? Okay, I promise no dwelling and no silences.”

“Deal.”

He stands up, ruffles my hair while leaving my room and tells me to meet him downstairs in an hour. The moment he’s gone, I run to my bathroom and check my face in the mirror. It’s still a bit flushed, but my eyes are bright and glowing with excitement. I’m not entirely sure about the cause of my excitement: finally getting my dream road-trip-come-true or the prediction of spending an eternity alone with Logan.


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours later, I find myself in Logan’s pick-up truck taking off my Dr. Martens, socks, and gloves and getting comfortable in the cabin that’s going to be our home for quite a while. Before we could finally leave the Mansion, Logan had to talk to both the Professor and Scott, and I assume it was about me. He looked pissed when he left the Professor’s office, and the way he slammed the truck into gear and squealed the tires a little as we headed down the driveway led me to believe he might’ve been a little more than pissed. Obviously, I'm curious. 

“What did they say?” I finally ask while I put my feet up on the dashboard and wiggle my toes just to see my colourfully painted nails sparkle in a ray of sunlight. Jubilee’s work, of course, and I smile at the sight of my glittering rainbow toes. 

“Nothing,” Logan growls, clearly indicating that he doesn’t want to talk about it. 

His growling doesn’t really impress me, though. 

“Oh come on. I’m sure they said something. You don’t stay away for like an hour just to glare and growl at Scooter and Chuck. M&M’s?” 

I hold out a bag of my favourite candy and deliberately use his nicknames for Scott and the Professor to show him I’m on his side. And I know how to communicate with my growling best friend, ‘cause now his features soften a little and he even shows a faint smile. 

“No, thanks. They talked about the usual.”

“Which is?”

He sighs and glances my way. “Don’t dump her, don’t even think of touching or hurting her, don’t dump her, keep your filthy paws to yourself, and don’t dump her.”

“Hmm, they sure don’t want you to dump me.” 

I think their protectiveness is sweet. It’s completely misplaced, but still, it’s sweet.

“Or fuck you blind and then dump you.”

I almost choke in an M&M. 

“Whoa, careful kid, don’t die on me before you’ve seen Anchorage, okay?” 

He carefully slaps me on the back and tries to focus on the road while I’m half coughing and half laughing. I grab my backpack, get my bottle of diet Coke and take a few big sips. 

I hear Logan mutter, “Diet Coke and candy…I don’t get it.”

“Get what?” I manage to ask between swallowing and coughing.

“Nothing. Must be a woman’s thing.” 

He frowns and I can’t help but think he’s so cute sometimes. And he’s indirectly called me a woman, which is an unexpected bonus. I want to know what he meant, though, but before I can insist on making him explain, I belch. Hard.

“Wow!” I proudly look at Logan. “I bet you can’t beat that one!”

He returns my grin with a scowl. “I thought you Southern girls were ladies.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Fiddle dee dee! Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

At his puzzled look, I explain, “Gone with the wind. You know? Scarlett and Rhett?”

“Whatever,” he grunts, shaking his head. “I’m taking a burping nutcase on a road trip. Jesus.”

My jaw starts hurting from grinning that much. “Never mind. So, are you accepting my challenge? You know, about beating my burp?”

He swallows some air and belches the words “I’ve just won.” 

Laughing like a four-year-old, I almost spill my diet coke all over him. He’s good. Maybe he can teach me to burp like that.

“Impressive!” I try to catch my breath. “You know, this means another embarrassing moment's down. What’s next? A fart contest?”

Logan grins, too, now and shakes his head. “I can’t. Not on demand.”

“Me neither. I guess we’ll have something to look forward to then.”

“You’re loony, Marie.”

Oh.

My Name. He just said my name. 

My mischievousness is suddenly gone, because - he remembered.

My surprise must be written all over my face, because Logan frowns once again and grunts, “What?”

“You just said my name,” I stammer. I can’t say anything more because I feel overwhelmed by a complete feeling of happiness that almost makes me cry.

Mature, my ass. I’m pathetic.

“You told me.”

“Yeah, but you never said it before.” 

I didn’t mean to make it sound like an accusation but somehow it is. 

Logan thinks about it for a moment. “I thought you wanted to keep it private.”

“I did. I mean, I do. But you never said it when we were alone. I just assumed you forgot or something.”

I can tell he’s starting to feel uncomfortable about this conversation, so I try to end it casually even though I feel on top of the world right now. My best friend remembers my real name. That sure must sound stupid for anyone who doesn’t know me but I don’t give a fuck.

“Never mind. I like it when you call me Marie when we’re alone. Just keep doing that, okay?”

He gives me the look. That scanning look. I hope he can smell my happy-scent, but how he can separate those scents is beyond me. When I had his mutation for a while I thought I was going nuts with all these different odours. I never thought I lived in a stinky environment but I sure do. And noisy, too. Or at least I did until Logan’s powers faded. Good thing he never gets a headache.

Logan doesn’t say anything and I continue stuffing myself with M&M’s, thinking about the time I’d experienced his enhanced senses myself. I immediately got rid of all my strongly perfumed deodorants, and I’d stopped using synthetic perfume at all. It’d felt like being caught in a heavy cloud of chemicals. From that day on, I only use natural products, hoping Logan appreciates it as well. He’s never said anything about though. He’s such a guy.

While nestling deeper in my seat, I again look at my colourful toes. There's a little scar on my left foot. I got it when I was about ten. Never use your foot for a brake while stopping a cart. Trust me, it won’t work. The wall I’d hid after I’d almost amputated my foot proved to be a far better way of getting that obnoxious vehicle to stop. 

It makes me wonder - his healing factor has brought me back to life twice and it healed my wounds after he’d stabbed me, but it didn’t fade my older scars. My body probably didn’t think of them as ‘unhealthy.’ After all, it is healthy skin, simply badly knitted. Considering the fact that most mutations don’t manifest themselves before puberty, Logan has to have a few scars from his childhood. Maybe they would trigger his memory if only I’d find one and quasi-carelessly mention it. 

I try to secretly eye his hands on the steering wheel but, from what I see, his skin shows no flaws. I almost surrender to a fantasy where those hands caress every stripped inch of me, but then Logan reaches for my bag of M&M’s and I snap out of it. 

I have to be careful. My gloves are somewhere in my backpack in an attempt to encourage my feeling of complete lack of restrictions while being away from the Mansion. I know Logan is okay with that, because I never wear gloves in my room or anywhere where it’s just me and him. It feels good. Liberating.

While thinking about my relative nudity, I also try to picture Logan in boxers without recalling his own memories. They're somewhere in there, lingering in the twilight zone of my consciousness They have the tendency to expose themselves in moments I’m off guard, so maybe taking a peek at his body to check for scares isn’t such a good idea after all. I might draw all sorts of vivid memories out of my own version of Pandora’s Box. 

Maybe I should simply ask him to show me his knees only. I’ve never seen his bare legs, but I’m sure there has to be scars on his knees. Every kid falls at least once on his or her knees, right?

I’m not really sure why I bother about his skin that much, but before I can figure it out, I feel myself dozing off a little. I stash my M&M’s in the glove compartment and make myself comfortable for quick nap.


	3. Chapter 3

We’ve stopped. 

Somewhere far away I hear a noise. But ducking deeper in my seat, I try to ignore it. 

“I know you’re awake,” Logan says.

Damn enhanced senses.

“Where are we?” I yawn shamelessly. I didn’t even know I felt this tired. “How long did I sleep?”

“You were out for about two hours. You’re hungry. I thought maybe we can grab a bite here.”

I blink several times. How does he know I’m hungry?

“Heard your stomach,” he points out.

Great. Not only can he smell my moods, it seems like he can read my mind as well. And my stomach apparently communicates with him without me knowing it. Did I say damn enhanced senses already? Never mind, he’s right. Despite the M&M’s, I’m feeling starved. 

“Okay, let me put on my shoes and stuff.”

He says he’s waiting outside and I hurry to grab my gloves after tying my shoes. I tuck them in the back pocket of my jeans, just in case it’s crowded in what seems like some sort of pizza-place. I feel stiff from sleeping all curled up and, while walking, I notice my right leg is tingling, making me limp a little.

“You okay?”

Nothing escapes his attention.

“Fine, leg is still sleeping,” I mumble and try to ignore the feeling of my blood rushing through my veins again.

The place is not that packed, but there are enough people around to worry about my skin. I’m wearing short sleeves and there are quite a few kids. I don’t really feel like eating pizza with my gloves though. That would mean using a fork. I never eat pizza with a fork. It’s just not right. 

Logan talks to the waitress and I can see that he’s using his sexy smile to get us a good table. The waitress is almost swooning and I try to maintain a straight face, hiding behind the flirting Wolverine. His effort works though. She leads us to a booth in the far corner, and she blushes when Logan winks and thanks her. I really need to use the bathroom, so I take my gloves out of my pocket, tell Logan to order for me and leave the poor girl in the very real claws of her imaginary Prince Charming. 

I’m not even jealous, which is very grown up. I’m beyond jealousy now. I’m – superior! Yeah, I’m - oh wait. That’s Erik taking over. Shush, you conceited self-proclaimed uber-mutant. 

Pff, that man surely suffers from an inflated ego.

After doing what I needed to do, using my gloves to avoid all those creepy bacteria lurking on doorknobs in public places like these, I return to the table. Logan says he’s ordered a medium pizza Hawaii with extra pineapple and a diet coke for me. I can’t help but smile, because that’s what I always order when we’re eating pizza.

“Jesus Logan, we’re like an old married couple. Except for the physical part of the relationship, of course. But then again, I don’t think old married couples have sex anyway, so we might as well fit in just fine.”

I cock my head and watch his reaction, but he just stares back at me, still smiling that faint sexy smile. How I wish I could just kiss him. One tiny itty-bitty kiss. One little lick. Just one nibble--what? Oh, he’s talking to me.

“…passports Chuck gave me. Here’s yours.” He grins and throws me a passport. 

I grab it, pretending to examine my photo, but shit, I bet he knows what I was thinking. Damn that smile. Damn those lips, too. But hey, I look good in the picture if I say so myself. Crap, what’s with my name?

“I’m Jane Joëlle Logan?”

Logan looks smug, like he’d been expecting my reaction.

“Chuck’s idea of humour. He asked me what names he had to print and I told him ‘John and Jane Doe’. I wasn’t serious, but look what he got me.”

He shoves his passport my way and, when I read his name, I chuckle. “John Joe Logan! So, what are we? Father and daughter?”

Logan takes his passport back again. “According to this thing here I’m thirty-five. You’re eighteen. I don’t think a father/daughter relationship will work.”

He has a point. Seventeen-year-old boys can be fathers, but it doesn’t feel right. Besides, I don’t really feel like calling him ‘daddy’ either. Well, not in this context. Heh.

“How about you being my big brother?” I suggest, dragging my mind out of the gutter.

“Sound good, sis’.”

The waitress chooses that moment to appear with our drinks and food.

“Oh, so you’re his kid sister? What a charming brother you have. I’m Katie. If you need anything, just call me, okay?”

She treats me like I still need a bib. She’s all smile and charm, and I bet she wants to pinch my cheek and gurgle ‘ga-ga goo-goo’ to me. When Logan arches his left eyebrow and flashes his mischievous smile, he’s making her almost drool in my coke. Gross.

“Thanks, Katie. I’ll remember.” I nod and roll my eyes at Logan. He’s so enjoying this, the bastard. Thank God drooling Katie takes off before her dribble wets my pizza. 

I take off my gloves and tuck the fabric into my back pocket again. 

“You know, there is something ultimately wrong about eating with gloves,” I say while I’m trying to chew at the same time. Too bad I already accidentally spit a chunk of pizza on the table.

“And they tell me *I’m* uncivilized,” is all Logan says as he watches me clean up my mess. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grunt, wishing I had more of that famous Southern grace. “But you know, eating pizza with gloves is like peeing through your bathing suit.”

Logan frowns, muttering, “I’ll be damned if I know what you’re rambling about.”

“Alright, let me explain. When you’re in a pool and you need to pee, you have two choices. One, you can let go in the pool, which I think is gross, and two, you can use the restrooms, which isn’t a walk in the park either. By the time you’ve reached those friggin’ toilets, you’re freezing your ass off, right? Now imagine peeling off that sticky bathing suit, squatting down, urinating and, when you’re finished - here comes the tricky part - trying get that wet and cold fabric up again, which is all sorts of icky and it seems to be stretched out so it doesn’t fit anymore.” 

I shiver by the thought alone. 

“So,” I continue, “when I was a kid, I once thought that maybe I should pee through the fabric. You know, to avoid the peeling and stuff. The fabric is wet already, right? Who would know? I sat down and tried to relax, but somehow it felt wrong. Like, I was deliberately trying to wet my panties or something. Besides, I was still cold and my feet were splashing in a pool of liquid, which I could only hope was just water and not someone else’s body fluid. But anyway, that what it feels like to eat pizza with gloves.”

Makes perfectly good sense, right?

Logan doesn’t seem to agree though. He’s still frowning, his hand still hanging in mid-air, holding a slice of pizza with sauce dripping back on his plate. He blinks, narrows his eyes even more and says, “You really are a fucking loony, kid.”

Men. Don’t they understand anything?

I roll my eyes, swallow another bite of my pizza and grin, waving my hand carelessly. “Whatever, sugar, but you love me anyway.”

“I have to, we’re family now,” he grunts, but his faint lop-sided grin tells me that he’s enjoying this conversation. 

He’s right. We’re family. Who cares if we’re not blood related; he’s the closest thing to a family member I have left. He’s my buddy, my brother, my hero. He loves me no matter what. It’s something I just know deep inside. 

I suddenly feel the need to cry. 

Logan senses something. He reaches for my hand, but then he realises I’m not wearing my gloves and clenches his fist. 

“You okay, darlin’?”

I nod and smile faintly. “Yeah, it’s just--you know…nothing. I’m glad I’m here. With you. And uh… I uh… you know. Nothing.” I shrug and avoid his eyes.

I want to tell him how important he is to me. How grateful I am that he’s my friend. That I really think of him as my family, but the lump in my throat prevents talking and besides, this old pizza joint isn’t the best place to show my gratitude. I’ll embarrass him. And I’ll embarrass me. This is neither the time nor the place to fall apart. I just have to hold on a little longer. I can do this. I’m Rogue, for God’s sake.

I take a shaky breath, smile and lock my eyes onto his. “I’m fine, sugar. I’m just happy, that’s all.”

He doesn’t believe me but he smiles back nonetheless. “Good. Now finish your pizza.”


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you think you can get us a room with a Jacuzzi?"

We're in the truck again and it's getting dark. I've spent the past few hours thinking and brooding over a few of my `issues' as I call them, while Logan drove quietly. Maybe he had a brooding session to work through himself, between occasional glances my way. We're good at being quiet together, although I wonder what he was thinking about. Maybe he was wondering the same thing about me.

Logan crinkles up his nose. "A Jacuzzi? Why?"

"I've never sat in a Jacuzzi. Seems like fun to me."

"Me neither. That I know of," he says.

"So? Let's try. I won't make a habit out of it. I know it'll probably cost a fortune, but it's just going to be this one night. To celebrate our great escape. Okay?"

"Whatever, kid."

"Can I have a beer, too?"

He glances my way again. "What are you asking me for?"

In my `duh!' voice I reply, "You're the adult."

It takes a while before he answers. "You’re eighteen."

I sigh. This isn't one of our smoothest conversations.

"I mean, I'm not allowed yet."

Logan is quiet again. What is wrong with him? Can't he just say `yes' of `no'? Jeez.

Finally, he asks, "So my approval overrules the law?"

I sigh again. "No, stupid, but I just want to know if it's okay with you."

Instead of answering, he suddenly changes the subject. "You remember when you were fooling around with that Cajun?"

Of course I remember. New-Guy-On-The-Block Remy was one smooth-talking, handsome sonovabitch. I was thrilled beyond words that he was after me. After playing hard to get for a few weeks, I finally gave in to go out on a date with him.

I'm starting to feel suspicious. What's that got to do about me getting a beer?

"What about Remy?" I ask.

"Do you remember what you said when I told you not to go out with the bastard?"

That was our first fight. I still feel slightly guilty about it all. Logan had warned me, but I didn't want to listen. I told him to bug off and that I didn't need a guardian anymore. It had hurt him, I knew, but in a twisted kind of way I'd felt satisfied about it. Of course he was right. Remy turned out to be a complete asshole. Don't get me started on that one. He did have a few good ways to get around my mutation though. Have to give him credit for that. Very creative.

"I told you I was old enough to make my own--oh. I get it."

Somehow I expect him to look smug, but when I finally have the courage to look up, he simply looks sad. "Good," is all he quietly says.

Shit, now I'm feeling even guiltier. I can be such a bitch sometimes. It takes me a few minutes to admit defeat, though.

"You were right, you know. About Remy. He turned out to be a total jerk."

"Want me to gut him when we get back?"

I grin. That’s my Logan. "Nah, sucker isn’t worth the mess."

Now he grins, too. Good, he's damn sexy when he grins. Oh wait, now he's staring at me with an intense look that sends shivers down my spine.

"I wasn't trying to be your guardian or something. I just didn't want to see you getting hurt by that fake French fucker."

I can't help but laugh. "I know. And I'm sorry for being such a bitch. Consider it one of my last spasms of adolescence."


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh, my God! It’s huge!”

We’re in our hotel, and a Jacuzzi is located in the middle of the room. We had to take the bridal suite to get it, so there’s also an enormous circle-shaped bed in a snugly looking corner, partially surrounded by pink velvet drapes. There are mirrors everywhere and it kind of looks like a Barbie house to me, but who am I to judge? I got my Jacuzzi.

Logan calmly inspects our room while I run around like a chicken with its head cut off. I’m so going to jump into the tub tonight. I don’t even care if Logan’s going to be around. This Jacuzzi is mine!

When I jump onto the bed, I notice a little button on the side. Curious as always, I push it and suddenly the bed slowly starts spinning around and the velvet drapes open, revealing a magnificent view outside. 

“Jesus, Logan! Come here and watch this!”

I must look like a total moron bouncing on the bed like this, but I’m so damn excited about it all I don’t give a damn. 

Logan merely watches me from a distance, grinning. 

“Well, don’t just stand there!" I complain. "Come join me! This is the best damn bed I’ve ever seen.”

He walks up the one step and then flops on the bed next to me. I lay down as well and together we watch little lights twinkling above our heads while we slowly swirl around. 

“Ever been in a room like this?” I ask him.

“Nope.”

“It’s wonderful. I could get used to this.”

“You like this kind of exposure?” He points out the open curtains and grins playfully. 

I can’t help but tease back. “Do you?”

“No counter questions.” 

“Says who?”

“Your big brother.”

He props himself up on one elbow and he kind of smiles at me. He looks relaxed. Almost - happy. It looks good on him. It makes me feel good, too. It makes me feel giddy. I act before I think and I push him on his back again so I can straddle him.

“So - are you in for a little incestuous peepshow for the lurkers out there?”

Of course, I’m not serious at all and neither is he. 

He laughs and I feel his muscles relax while he crosses his arms behind his head and arches an eyebrow, looking all smug. “Getting kinky, huh? Go ahead, darlin’. I’m all yours.” He even smirks.

Now I’m the one who laughs out loud. “Oh no. You’re not going to lay back and let me do all the work. Men,” I snort, “lazy sons of bitches, all of them.” 

I jokingly slap his chest and roll off of him before I get any weird ideas. I mean, I don’t have Logan between my legs on a daily basis. I may be just his buddy, but I am fully aware that he’s damn good looking when he’s flirty like that.

“Damn, I thought I finally got lucky” he mumbles, still smiling and hopefully unaware of the direction my thoughts were going. 

I shake my head while I push the button again, causing the bed the stop. I want to get in the tub and I want it now, so I jump up, squat down near the Jacuzzi, and let the water run.

“I’m going in. Do you mind?”

He doesn’t move. His eyes are closed and he looks comfy over there. “Go ahead. It’s your party.”

“Okay.”

I disappear into the bathroom with one of my bags and change into my most decent underwear because I simply don’t own a bathing suit. I’m determined to enjoy this Jacuzzi, but I can’t go in naked with Logan around. I guess we’re going to test his ‘embarrassing moments’ theory when it’s time to slip into the tub wearing my silk green lingerie. Ugh. Why couldn’t I take my granny panties with me? Damn Jubes for insisting on packing my Victoria’s Secret stuff only. Oh well, too late now. I’m going to handle this maturely. As always.

I peek into the room and notice that Logan is still lying on the bed. Looks like he hasn’t even moved a finger. Good, maybe he’s asleep. I tighten my bathrobe, tiptoe to the Jacuzzi and, when I glance at Logan again, I see he’s still not paying attention to me and my silly behaviour. I can’t suppress a giggle. I’m such a dork. Like he cares about me and my lingerie. 

I turn on the bubbles, let the robe slide on the ground, and carefully step into the tub. The water is nice and warm and I close my eyes for a few minutes. This is heaven. Pure heaven. Just about one more inch and I can shut off the tap. 

“Can I join?”

Jesus, I forgot how quiet he can be. He’s standing close, holding a bottle of beer. Huh. Where did he get that? Did he sniff it out or something?

“Help yourself, but be careful.” I vaguely direct his attention to my sort of undressed state of existence. I don’t think I can drag an unconscious Logan out of this tub. He’ll probably drown. 

“It’s okay. Here.”

He hands me the bottle, walks over to the mini bar next to the tub – aha, that’s the beer source - and starts filling the champagne cooler with beer and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Then he unbuttons his flannel shirt while I’m trying not to look too fascinated by the sight of him stripping right in front of me. Well, more or less stripping, because he stops after getting rid of his shirts, belt and boots. I think he’s about to get into the tub wearing jeans and socks. Good thinking.

“Careful," I warn again. “We'll flood this place if you just hop in.”

“Got it.”

He shuts off the tap and carefully lowers himself into the tub, slowly enough so the water can escape through the overflow drain. It’s in interesting sight to see his muscles roll under his skin while he does this and I’d never thought that partially wet jeans could look this sexy. Can you die from unfulfilled desire?

When he finally settles down, we toast, “To Anchorage,” and, after taking a few sips, Logan grunts, “I think I understand that ‘peeing through a bathing suit’ story now.”

I almost choke on my beer. “What?! You’re not urinating, are you?”

He looks like he’s about to say ‘Duh!’, but instead he mutters, “Accusing me of jerking off and pissing in the tub in your presence, now that’s what I call having a high opinion.”

I laugh. “I’m sorry, sugar. It’s just, I thought--never mind. It’s the jeans, right? Feels wrong in a Jacuzzi.” 

“Yeah. It’s okay. It’s just - weird.”

“Just like eating pizza with gloves and peeing through your bathing suit.” I nod. 

He takes another sip. “Got it.”

Smiling, I close my eyes again. I feel his long jeans-clad legs move next to me. His feet rest on my side of the tub and I’m glad he’s still wearing his socks. The way he’s always careful around me, without being afraid, makes me love him even more. Not all lovey dovey love, but more of a primal kind of love. How much love can a person contain anyway? Will I burst out of my skin if I can’t release some of it? The thought makes me giggle again, but Logan doesn’t react. When I take a peek, I see that he’s got his eyes closed. Good, I don’t feel like explaining anyway.

We spend a few minutes listening to the bubbling water. I grab the second beer he brought and sink a little deeper in the tub. My shoulders are getting cold. The water reaches halfway to Logan’s chest and, even though I admire the magnificent view, I wonder if he’s cold, too. Before I can ask him, he sinks down and rests his head on the side of the tub, still with closed eyes. Starting to feel a little tipsy, I follow his example.

Twenty minutes and two more beers later, I can say that I’m drunk. Not sick-drunk, but enough to see the room spinning when I turn my head a little too fast. Logan must be experiencing a nice little buzz himself. He’s had six beers and half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. 

“Logan?”

“Hmm.”

“I never slept with Remy.”

He opens his eyes and blinks two or three times. 

“I knew you were a smart cookie, kid,” is all he says before resting his head again.

I feel good about that. I feel proud of myself. Remy wasn’t worth it. I gave up on fairytale-romance a long time ago but it’s not as if I'd jump into bed with the first one who’s brave enough to handle my skin either. I still have some self-esteem and idealistic hope left. I want to wait for someone who’s worth it. 

Becoming an adult is both a curse and a blessing, it seems. You have to let go of your fantasies a little in order to make room for a more practical attitude. I know that Logan will never love me the way I want him to, and being practical helps me getting through those teenage angst-feelings. It’s no use holding on to those thoughts. I have to move on and cherish our friendship. It’s something grown-ups do. Holding on to the fantasy will only hold me down. I know that. I’ve known it from the moment I’d met him. 

Still, deep inside, my inner child tells me to hang on and wait until I’m older. Maybe, just maybe, when I’m twenty-something he’ll see me as a woman. Or maybe thirty. Jean’s thirty-three, right?

“Why can’t we just bury a feeling deep into the ground and dig it up again once we’re able to handle it?”

Oops, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Now Logan’s staring at me.

“Maybe because if we could, we’ll probably never dig up our crap ever again.”

Hmm… Sounds reasonable. I nod slowly while I think about his answer. 

“Shiny happy people skipping over dirt-covered crap.”

He smiles. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Do you love Jean?”

Damn! Why can’t I just shut up? I don’t think I’m holding my liquor that well. Makes me chatter about all sorts of things I don’t want to say out loud.

Too late now, though. Logan’s seems to seriously think about my question. He sighs. 

“I don’t know. I..,” he stops and shrugs.

I need to encourage him. I don’t think I’ve ever been this curious before. “You can tell me. We’re honest with each other, right?" I tap my skull. "I already know a lot, you might as well fill in the gaps.”

His eyes lock onto mine, probably scanning my sincerity. I try to look trustworthy even though I have no clue whatsoever what that would look like. 

He sighs again and breaks our eye contact. He looks sad. Crap. Me and my big mouth. 

“I sometimes doubt my ability to care in general,” he explains seriously. “And love makes things even more - complicated.”

He’s right. Take our relationship, for instance. We’re friends. Buddies. Whatever. If I weren’t in love with him, everything would be cool. We’d have a beer, watch hockey, I’d chase Remy again, or Bobby, or Pete for all I care, and I’d laugh about his flirts with Jean. I wouldn’t have a care in the world. But now my whole life seems out of balance because of one stupid feeling: Love.

It sure does make things complicated.

I mumble. “Amen to that.”

“I’m sorry, Marie.”

I look up and meet thoughtful eyes. I’m suddenly sure that he's known about my feelings for quite some time and that he *is* undeniably sorry for not returning them. Strangely enough, I’m not even embarrassed. Loving him became such a normal feeling that I can’t feel ashamed about it. Instead, I let myself stare into those beautiful hazel pools before I try to smile and quasi-casually shrug one shoulder.

“It’s not your fault. I don’t think you’re my knight in shining armour. I know you. The *real* you. It’s not some stupid crush, but I’m sure I’ll get over it soon enough.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he sadly smiles back at me. I think it’s time to get out of this tub before I make an even a bigger ass out of myself. Besides, the water’s getting cold even though we’ve refilled every now and then. 

“I’m going to take a shower and then hit the sack. How about you?”

“Go ahead. I’ll finish this bottle first.” 

“Don’t drown in here, okay? I’m sure adamantium doesn’t float well.”

He smirks and mumbles. “Doesn’t oxidise either, at least that’s a plus.”

I chuckle and stand up, trying to act normal, but I feel a little wobbly and the fact that I’m wearing a thong doesn’t make me feel any better. Despite the stuff I did with Remy, I’m still not used to showing my ass to any man, lethal skin or not. 

Of course, Logan isn’t really paying attention to me or my lingerie. 

It both annoys and relieves me.


	6. Chapter 6

I’m in the Royal Bed when Logan comes out of the bathroom, dressed in sweatpants only. Damn. I bet he doesn’t even think about me swooning over his torso, but I am. Very mature. Yeah, very, very grown up. Swooning over a bare chest. It’s no excuse that it’s Logan’s bare chest. The best, damn bare-muscled chest I’ve ever seen. Actors and male models included. Nope, no excuse whatsoever. But oh my, he looks fine.

We’d flipped a coin about the first turn to take the bed while we were still driving and I’d won. This bed is so damn big though, we'd fit together without being able to touch one another even if we wanted to. I might even cuddle against that chest of his. Yeah, that’d be nice. Besides, the couch is really tiny and Logan takes up a lot of space. It’ll never fit anyway.

Surrounded by the velvet drapes and the twinkling lights, I feel a little like Thumbelina here. I’ll probably get lost in this bed, but the stupidest thing is that I don’t really know how to ask Logan to join me. And *if* he wants to join me. Meanwhile, he’s trying to get comfortable on the couch, probably not aware of my dilemma. His long legs are draped over one of the armrests. It really looks ridiculous. 

“Logan?”

I hear a muffled “yeah” and I chicken out. I’d probably never be a brave X-Man. X-Woman. X-Mutant? Whatever. 

“’Night.”

“Night, kid.”

Crap. I feel lonely. And abandoned. My nice drunken buzz is all cleared up, too. Suddenly I feel my chest tighten and a wave a grief washes over me, leaving me almost choking in a restrained sob. I can’t make a sound. He’ll probably hear it and I don’t feel like talking right now. 

Damn it, Rogue. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Good. Nice, steady breaths. 

I’m not alone. I’m not abandoned. I’ve got Logan, and he’ll take care of me, just like he’d promised. And of course, when you speak of the devil. In less than four seconds after my barely audible sob, he’s behind me. Shit. I don’t want to cry. Not here, not now. Breathe in, breathe out. 

“Let it go. It’s okay,” he says in a low, calming voice while he pulls me close. 

I see his arm covered by his flannel shirt and I softly nuzzle it, trying to inhale his scent while holding back a sniffle again. After a few shaky breaths, I trust my voice enough the say something. 

“It’s not okay. I’m not going to cry.” Well, not yet.

He doesn’t respond, and I feel a tear running down my cheek. 

Don’t cry, Rogue. Not here. Not now. 

Oh crap, now he’s nuzzling my hair. 

I’m not going to break down. I won’t. Breathe, goddamnit. Breathe!

Silently, I feel my body relax a little. I take a long, deep breath and manage to block the rest of my misery while he gently rubs my arm. I let him. In fact, I kind of surrender myself to his touch. I trust him and I am tired. What a difference his presence makes. I feel safe now.

“Thanks,” I mumble. 

“It’s okay.”

“Don’t leave.” It sound like a plea and maybe it is. I don’t know. 

Feeling his body tense behind me, it takes a while before he answers, “I have to.”

I turn around, only to find his shirt still unbuttoned. My hands are bare, so I scoot away a little and carefully tuck a sheet between us. I don’t think he’s wearing socks either. Don’t want our feet to touch.

“Why? Is it my skin? The bed is big enough.”

“No.”

“Oh.” 

I bet he’s annoyed. I’m acting all girly and he’s stuck with me. What was I thinking when I agreed on letting him take me with him? I shouldn’t have accepted, ‘cause now he feels obligated. I should set him free again. 

“Maybe this all wasn’t such a good idea.”

“It is.”

My eyes search his in the dark. Does he see me?

I whisper, “How can you be so sure?”

“You need this. We both do,” he simply answers.

Again, “Oh,” is all I can think of to say. 

Still a bit worried, he asks, “Are you okay, now?”

“Yeah,” I sigh while he backs off. “’Night and - thanks.”

He ruffles my hair and smiles. “Enjoy the bed while you still can, kid. Tomorrow’s my turn.”

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, this time.

* * *

After what seems like only a few minutes, I wake up and I feel something – someone? - behind me. 

What time is it? It’s light out already. How did it get morning this soon and how did I end up being cradled in a warm embrace?

“Morning, kid.”

Hmm… that was almost a low sexy growl. I’m getting goose bumps all over. 

Oh, shit! Skin! 

Flinching away a little, I warn, “Careful.”

“It’s okay, I’m covered.”

Not really convinced, I turn around a little to inspect his clothing. 

He looks a little sleepy, hair’s all messed up, too. Damn, I didn’t think he could look any sexier, but somehow he managed to prove me wrong. Reminds me that I must look like crap. And I bet his enhanced sense of smell doesn’t appreciate my morning breath either. I desperately need to brush my teeth.

To make things even more exciting, he lifts up the sheets to let me take a peek at his - buttoned down flannel, sweats and socks. Ah. Okay. Oh well, at least he’s taking this no-touching thing seriously. Now I have to get the hell out of here to make myself a bit less mangled and smelly.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Want me to leave?”

“No, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“’Kay.”

He closes his eyes and I notice he’s wearing gloves too. He hardly ever wears them. I wonder why he does now. 

It takes me about four minutes to brush my teeth, pee and comb my hair. I don’t even bother about him seeing me in my thong and shirt anymore, ‘cause by now I’m starting to get used to the idea that he doesn’t look at me. Or at least, not that I’m aware of. 

I jump into bed and nestle in his arms again, my back to his chest. I don’t really know if he’s okay with that, but I guess I’ll find out soon enough. He pulls me close, so there’s my answer. How long has he been here?

“I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me. I mean, uh… sleep in the same bed.”

It takes a while before he calmly answers, “We need to talk.”

Again? Now what? More embarrassing moments? Somehow I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like whatever he wants to get off his chest. 

“That’s a woman’s line and it usually revolves into a break-up,” I tell him.

He doesn’t respond. 

Fine. Have it your way. I sigh. “About what?”

“My reasons for not sharing a bed with you.”

I’m not saying anything. That’s probably the best approach. Maybe he’ll drop this whole conversation and let me fall back to sleep. I’m not a morning person, so he couldn’t have picked a shittier moment to get all serious. I just want to snuggle up and feel his warmth. 

I make myself comfortable by scooting back against him even more. Damn, he feels like a warm, brick wall. I kind of disappear in his embrace. This makes me feel all kinds of good. I have to remember that I don’t want to shove him out of the bed though. Besides, I don’t think I can get any closer. I feel his steady heartbeat against my back and, against all better judgments, I wonder if he’s getting aroused now that I am kind of pressing my ass against his groin. Doesn’t feel like it. Bummer. 

“The first reason is the most important,” he starts. 

Damn damn damn. Since when does he prefer talking? 

Since now apparently, because he calmly continues, “I’m not used to sharing a bed. I tend to get a little… edgy, sometimes.”

I chuckle. “Now that’s what I call an understatement.”

“Yeah.” 

He sounds – defeated? I didn’t mean that. I bet he’s still feeling guilty about our stabby-touchy-incident the first night we were at the Mansion. But he shouldn’t. It was my fault as well. 

“It’s okay. I understand,” I try to assure him and cover his gloved hand with mine. 

“Good.”

A long silence stretches. 

“Then there is a reason Scooter gave me,” he finally goes on. 

Now I’m all curious. I frown and turn around. Somehow our legs entwine naturally, and in the back of my head I realize that we physically fit together. It’s like I’m made to match his body. We even share a pillow. Does he even know how handsome he is?  
Wait a minute. I’m drifting again. There was something about Scott. What did he say again? Crap, those eyes are distracting. 

Feeling silly for losing track, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“He warned me not to… encourage your feelings,” he says carefully. Like he expects me to get angry. 

And he’s right. 

“What the fuck?” I feel myself stiffen. Scott told Logan what? And in front of the Professor? Why’s Scott meddling, anyway? So now everybody knows about my so-called secret crush? “Great. The entire school knows that I love you. Haha, poor little Rogue, totally in love with her unreachable hero.”

I turn around again and want to leave, suddenly feeling a little nauseous, but Logan stops me by pulling me back against his chest and into his arms. Firmly. In fact, he’s almost crushing me. 

“Let me go,” I snap. 

I’m in no mood to play games and try to squirm my way out. 

“No.”

I know I can’t beat him so after a swift, pathetic attempt to free myself, I reluctantly lay still and rigid in his caging embrace. 

We’re silent for a while and his chin rests on top of my head. I can’t move my arms, they’re trapped too. For the first time since I've known Logan, I’m experiencing a slight feeling of panic. Like I’m suddenly aware that he’s a man. A real one. And strong. He can snap me like a twig and I’m kind of helpless here. 

It suddenly makes me think about Woof, our neighbor’s dog. His actual name was Donald, but I was five years old and always called him Woof. They’d warned me not to touch him. He was a watchdog and so he was ‘mean’. I couldn’t believe that a dog like him could harm me though. All animals liked me, didn’t they? Because I liked them back. So, one day, I carefully approached him and after a few minutes of talking and letting him sniff out my scent, I managed to pat him on the head. From that day on, I thought Woof and I were buddies. Christ, was I wrong. The damn animal bit me hard after a few weeks. I never really knew what caused his sudden change, but one moment he was all cuddly, next moment he almost had three digits for lunch. He never even growled before his attack. Needless to say, I never trusted him ever again. 

Would Logan give a warning-growl before he’d attack me?

“You’re afraid of me.”

He says it in such a heartbreaking voice, I need to close my eyes. Sometimes I just hate him. He knows me too well. 

“No, I just…” 

I just what? I groan in frustration. 

“I just feel silly, that’s all,” I mutter half-heartedly.

“Don’t.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the laughing stock of the school.”

He loosens his grip and one hand trails over my shoulder, my arm, my hip and back up again while he talks. “It’s not that bad. Jean told me when I woke up after Liberty Island. I guess she’d told Scott, too. I’m sure they’re discreet. And as for Chuck, well, he’s psychic. I bet he knew already.”

“*Jean* told you?” I ask, totally shocked about the lack of integrity in someone who’s both a psychic and doctor. “Our Dr. Grey-Jean?” 

Now that’s news. Did she invade my head without me knowing? Or did I project too strongly? Whatever the case, she shouldn’t have told him. She had no right.

And Logan should stop touching me. I can’t really focus on this conversation. 

Like he can read my mind, his hand suddenly stops and settles on my arm again. “I would've found out anyway,” he defends her despicable action, and even though I know that’s true, I can’t help but feel bitter. 

“Bitch.”

He chuckles but he doesn’t say anything. Good. Don’t make me hate you, too.

“So why are you here?” I ask only half-cynically. “Holding me this close is against Scott’s approval, I’m sure.”

“Fuck One-Eye,” he growls. 

Now that makes me grin. I nestle closer and feel him relax as well. 

“Marie?”

I like the sound of that. Especially when he says it when we’re in bed. 

“Hmm?” 

“I slept on the couch mostly, but then I woke up from… I woke up and decided to lie here for a while. I never want to hurt you in any way, so if you want me to…”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause maybe it’s wrong even though it feels right.” 

Sometimes he shows me a very vulnerable Logan. Breaks my heart every time. 

“It feels right to me, too. Now shut up and let me indulge in my girlish fantasies about you.”

“Am I naked in those?” 

Heh. He’s back to teasing me, the charming bastard.

Unsuccessfully suppressing my grin, I quasi-decently return, “Like I’d answer that. I’m a lady, mind you.” 

“How could I forget.” 

I can hear the smirk is his voice, but I can also tell he’s relieved. 

That’s makes two of us.


	7. Chapter 7

"Logan, I've been thinking. Can you show me your knees?"

"What?"

"Your knees. I'd like to see them."

We're in the truck again. Logan's pulling over near a supermarket and I've been brooding about my scars-theory some more.

Scowling, he grunts, "Why?"

Okay, I know I can't expect him to go naked the moment I ask him to (oh, how I wish), but why do I always have to explain things?

"'Cause I like to add a bare knee-fetish to my fantasies, that's why. Now strip."

Good, there is that smirk again. I know he likes me to tease him. I like teasing him too.

"Fine."

Fine? Really? Oh, seems like it. 

We're at a parking lot and he turns towards me. While scooting back a little and planting his legs onto my lap, he rolls up his jeans. I'd somehow pictured real hairy legs, but he's just, you know, normal. I've seen Scott in shorts lots of times and he looked like he still wore his thermal underwear. The thought makes me accidentally snicker.

Oops. Logan looks annoyed again. He’s quite moody today. Better pay attention to his legs.

Hmm, no scars. How's that possible?

He grunts, "Done?"

Oh my, he's annoyed alright, but I'm going to ignore it the best I can. He does kind of look ridiculous right now with his legs on my lap. I try not to laugh, but I'm not really sure if I'm successful.

"One moment, okay? Can I uh… touch your knees? With my gloves, of course."

Way to go, Rogue. I bet he thinks I have a real knee-obsession going on. He's acting like Mr. Pokerface again and it irritates the hell out of me. I can't read his mood now.

"Sure."

I'll make it quick. Where are my gloves? Right, here. I just want to touch his knees for a second. You know, like, when you buy a towel or something. It might look fluffy enough, but you always want to feel the fabric, too. Just… because.

I carefully examine his legs from his army-boots to his knees. Nope. Not a scar. Nothing but smooth skin and dark hair. How's that possible? Didn't he ever trip as a child?

"Okay, I'm done now."

He turns over to his side again, his long legs disappearing under the steering wheel. 

While gazing at me, he unrolls his jeans. "What that was all about?"

"Hmm? Nothing. I'll tell you later, okay?"

I don't know if he appreciates me thinking about this. I need some time to think about how I'm going to tell my theory.

He narrows his eyes and I always feel like holding my breath when he does that. Logan's x-ray eyes, just like Superman. I bet that if he had x-ray vision, Jean wouldn't be safe. Or any other living woman on the planet for that matter. I almost roll my eyes at the fantasy.

"Whatever, kid. You just wait here." He's out of the car before I can respond. 

I think he's upset. Shit. Me and my stupid thoughts.

* * *

It takes him about fifteen minutes to return again. He hands me a six-pack of diet coke and stashes a few bottles of water and some food behind our seats without saying anything. Maybe I should tell him what I've been thinking.

"I thought I had a theory about your past."

He looks up, still Mr. Pokerface. Okay, I'll just continue then. 

"I thought – since most mutations don't manifest until puberty, I thought you might have scars on your knees. You know, every child trips at least once and um… well, that's what I've been thinking."

I shrug. That sounded lame.

I can hear him taking a deep breath while he looks away from me. Maybe I should apologize.

"Sorry."

"What for?" 

That was a grunt. Edgy today, aren't we, sugar?

I shrug again though. Because I’m elegant like that. I really should replace that gesture with something more graceful. Something Jean would do. Maybe I'll have to keep an eye on her when we're back. But right now, I need to think of why I'm apologizing.

"I don't know. For interfering, I guess."

"You're trying to help," he says, staring out of the window.

"So you're not mad at me?"

At least now he's looking at me. 

I see a sad, faint smile and caring eyes. 

"No, darlin', I appreciate it. Thanks."

"Well, I wasn't of any help."

"You care."

He's got that right. I care a lot. I don't know what to say though, so I just return his smile. 

He breaks our short silence. "This is the last stop for probably a few hours. Bathroom is over there." He points out a gas station.

Pragmatic man, my Logan. I just went half an hour ago where we had breakfast, but maybe I should go, just to make sure. I don't particularly enjoy going into the bushes with a roll of toilet paper while Logan's waiting. It's nasty. Yeah, I might as well go again.

"Back in a minute."

* * *

"I've been thinking about your theory, kid."

I look up from the map I was studying. I want to keep track of where we are.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've thought about it before, but when I couldn't find any scars myself, I just gave up. Do you think I could have had my mutation from the moment I was born?"

The way his eyes lock onto mine for a moment lets me know my thoughts are important to him. I like that. It makes me feel like an equal. A friend he trusts. I should really think of something meaningful to say.

"Hmm... There are cases known of infants with a different skin color. Or like, with four arms or something. But those are just different outer appearances. From what I’ve learned so far, our real gift usually exposes itself during puberty or after an emotional trauma. Maybe you suffered such a trauma real young? Can a baby even register something traumatic?"

Okay, not as meaningful as I wanted it to be, but he's giving it some thought anyway.

"Don't know."

I sigh. "Me neither."

We both continue thinking about it. I can tell by the way he's scowling. Maybe he was just a really careful child? Or um… maybe he didn’t go out much? Like, maybe he was sick all the time? 

Nah, those are stupid theories. They both don't match his personality now. Logan and careful? Ha! As if! And could someone with latent regenerative powers become sick enough to skip a normal childhood? I study him just to be sure. He looks so strong, so healthy. Could he have been a fragile boy once? I doubt that. Still, you never know. Maybe I should tell him these thoughts.

"This probably won't make any sense, but do you think you could've been in poor health? As a kid, I mean? Ill enough to avoid a carefree childhood?"

Again, he's thinking about it and I feel his frustration. Like some answers are just below the surface, but he just can't seem to hold on to them.

"I can't remember, but I have a gut feeling that I know what it's like to be sick. That's all there is."

Suddenly I have an idea. “Maybe you had scars once, but you've been wounded a lot. All we see now is probably new skin."

"Probably, yeah."

Aww, he looks a little saddened now. That's my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up. Crap. If I'm feeling frustrated about this all, what must it be like for him? I wish I could give him a hug. He sure looks like he could use one. Maybe I'll just rub his thigh instead. Or um… maybe not. That's kind of intimate. I can't do that, can I?

What the hell. I want to let him know that I care. There. Just a little squeeze. Nice and friendly. His thigh is hard. Even under my still-gloved hand I can feel his warmth.

Without looking down, he grabs my hand, holds it in place, and rubs it a little with his thumb. I don't know if he does that to stop my hand from wandering off on its own, which - of course - hadn't even crossed my mind, but it sure feels good.

"I'm fine. Stop worrying," he tries to assure me.

I copy his scanning-look, but without enhanced senses I can only use my eyes. But he seems okay again.

"You sure?"

"That's my line."

Now he's back to teasing me. I can't help but smile. I squeeze his thigh once more and pull away. Don't want to feed those girlish fantasies, and besides, my cell phone’s ringing. Must be Jubes. I bet she's going to ask me about our first night together. Hello, awkward conversation with Logan just a few feet away. 

"Jubes, can I call you back?"

"Good morning Rogue. It's Charles Xavier."

Oh, crap. I don't think the Professor calls for a social chat. I can tell Logan's worried as well.

"Professor, is there something wrong?" I ask, and I’m already half-preparing myself to turn back to the Mansion.

"No, my dear. My apologies for giving you such an impression. I was hoping I could speak to Logan for a moment. Is he there?"

"Yeah, just a sec.” I hold up the phone for Logan. “He wants to talk to you."

Logan takes my cell and I nervously start pulling at my left glove. Is there something he doesn’t want to tell me? Please, let everything be okay at the Mansion. Please, please, please.

"What's wrong, Chuck?"

I try to listen, but all I hear is Logan grunting, ‘Where?’, ‘You think it's something?’ and ‘I'll talk to her’.

I'm on pins and needles here.

"What is it? Brotherhood trouble?" I ask as soon as he gives back my phone.

"No. It’s nothing."

What? That's all I got? He's got to be kidding. Maybe he needs time to think about it. Maybe I should just shut up. Crap, I hate this, but I know I shouldn't whine. He'll tell me when he's ready. I'll just wait until he wants to tell me. Time to practice patience. I'll deal with this all grow up like. ‘Cause that's what I am. Yep. I can do that. I'll just sit here and bite my tongue until he starts to talk.

Which takes him about half an hour. My tongue seriously hurts.

"Chuck said he's got a lead."

Oooh! I see. That was worth the wait. Good thing I didn't push him and acted all whiney. This is important. Very important.

"Where?"

"Alkali Lake."

* * *

"I still think we should go to Alkali Lake first."

We're having lunch somewhere outside, under a big tree. The last hour we've spent discussing our destination. I suggested tracking down his lead right now and then decide whether to continue our trip, but Logan keeps on insisting we go to Anchorage first. I know how much this lead means to him, so the fact that he's willing to fulfill my stupid dream first is very moving, but it’s also very stubborn. Doesn't he know I want to see him happy?

"No, kid. We were heading for Anchorage and we're sticking to the plan. This is about you, not me."

"Don't go all martyr on me, Logan. I know how much this lead means to you. Fuck Anchorage. I won't allow my meaningless fantasy to prevent something important like this. We're going to Alkali Lake."

"No."

Now I'm getting pissed. And probably unreasonable, but I don't give a shit.

"Fine. I'm going to call Scott and tell him to come get me. This trip is over. You're free to go alone."

I'm about to get up and walk to the truck, but he's stopping me by firmly grabbing my arm and pulling me down to sit next to him again.

"Don't," he snaps. He's pissed too. Good, we're both pissed and we're both stubborn. I wonder who'll win. He's hurting my arm though. He's still holding me tightly. I'm sure he doesn't mean to, but I bet I'll be bruised tomorrow.

"You're hurting me."

"Fuck. Sorry." He quickly releases his firm grip, but he looks even angrier now. 

Great, I thought this trip was going to be all happy-go-lucky. Silly me. 

Leaning against him a little, I rest my head against his shoulder. He doesn't look up, but he doesn't withdraw either. That's something.

"It's okay," I try to comfort him, but I’m also wondering why I always end up calming him when he's the one who fucks up in the first place.

I get no response other that scowling at his bottle of water.

"Logan, look at me. It's okay."

Still not meeting my eyes, he again apologizes somewhat gruffly. “It’s not. I’m sorry.”

I know he's telling the truth. His remorse and self-loathing is clearly readable over his entire countenance. My heart aches for him because I really want to see him happy, not miserable and bracing himself for rejection. Because I'll never leave his side voluntarily. Why doesn't he know?

I lower my head so I can see his face.

"I know. Okay? Now, let's get this fucking dispute over with and track down that lead," I say calmly, trying to show him that I'm fed up with his stubbornness and that I'm determined to win this stupid quarrel.

The scowl slowly leaves his face. Good. That means I’m winning. I just have to convince him that I really don't give a shit about Anchorage if there’s a chance he can find out something about his past.

"I'm serious, Logan. I really think you should go to Alkali Lake first. If you don't want me to come along, I'll call Scott, or `Ro. They'll understand. I understand, too."

Finally, his beautiful, hazel eyes look up. They're still a bit poignant and I know he's trying to check my sincerity. I can't show him how much it hurts my feelings that he still needs his senses to trust me. I want him to see my unconditional love, but somehow, he's either dense - senses be damned, or he doesn't believe I can love him like that.

Finally, he declares, "If I go, you go."

I can't help but smile now. He makes my day with statements like this. Giving me a little bit of his trust is such a big gesture for him. I know how to value his reliance properly: I cherish it in my heart.

"Good, we're going then," I decide.

"You sure about this?"

"Absolutely."


	8. Chapter 8

Tonight, I am rethinking the day in bed. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the past events. Logan’s on the couch again, insisting that the bed was mine. I didn’t really argue about it. There’d been enough quarrels for one day. 

He’d been really quiet after our decision. So was I. I think we both realized that this might be a major breakthrough. Some of Logan’s questions might get answered, but I am aware that he’s scared, too. Some things may not be pleasant. 

Again, I thought that maybe I shouldn’t be around, but when I brought it up once more, he told me flat out to drop it. The butterflies in my stomach are absolutely out of control now that I know that he wants me to be around during something so personal. I can only hope that I won’t let him down. 

We also had two embarrassing moments down again. At one point I’d called Jubilee to ask her if she’d seen my diary around there somewhere. I’d apparently forgotten to pack it and I wasn’t entirely sure when I should start my period. I keep it marked in my diary. Needless to say, I’d tried to call her when I was having a private moment but Jubes didn’t answer my call. 

Two hours later, she called back and yeah, Logan was there with me and we were on the road again. I subtlety tried to tell Jubes what I was after, but I should’ve known ‘subtlety’ and ‘Jubilee’ don’t fit in the same sentence. Besides, she couldn’t find my diary anywhere. 

To make things worse, she asked me if Logan had tried ‘fucking me out of my mind’ yet and I heard Logan chuckle. When I glared at him, he’d regained his poker face already but of course he could hear Jubes yelling through her cell. Damn Jubes and damn her big mouth.

Anyway, after the phone call, he’d asked my about my cycle. I just about fainted out of embarrassment, but I finally managed to get control of myself and told him that it was around about twenty-eight days. ‘Wasn’t that normal?’ I even asked. He told me dead serious that it was average and that it was normal to have a cycle between twenty-one and thirty-five days. I didn’t know that. I always thought it was twenty-eight for every woman. Never knew a man could teach me about menstrual periods. It was kind of odd. 

Then, of course, I wanted to know why he cared. He was silent for a few moments and then told me that I should start my period in about four days. He wasn’t exactly sure, since I’ve never been around him this close for my entire cycle, but about four or five days would be pretty accurate, he’d said. 

I just stared at him in shock. He knew these things, too? That was totally bizarre. And the weirdest thing was, he never even seemed awkward about it. This man continues to surprise me, even though I have him in my head. 

When I regained my voice again, I wanted to know how he could tell all this and he explained about changing scents. It’s not something he usually notices, but after my phone call he’d concentrated on my scent and just sort of knew. Apparently we all have a basic scent, and on top of that, we radiate scents of emotions. Basic scents don’t really change, but a woman’s basic scent does fluctuate with her cycle a little. It’s the strongest during ovulation. 

Never knew that either, but it was kind of interesting. He should’ve taught biology instead of Jean. I guess my grades would’ve been much better. I probably would have stared at him, thinking about the birds and the bees. That’s biology, too, right? Yeah, I would’ve gotten straight A’s, I bet. 

I tried to snap out of my Logan-teaches-birds-and-bees-fantasy and jokingly told him that he must be horny all the time, living with all those women in one house. There was always at least one ovulating. He smirked and said that he – as a man - had to like the basic scent first to become interested, but if he’d let his animal-side take over, he indeed might have a problem. 

I wasn’t really sure if he was teasing me though. He rarely talks about ‘the Wolverine’ in him, but I know it’s there from personal experience. It’s a strong, primal, animalistic instinct. Very aggressive, very intense. Beyond my control if it wasn’t for the Professor to help me. He made sure I only growled at people when I felt uneasy instead of attacking them. I can only admire Logan for keeping the Wolverine restrained. It sure is a tough job.

How on earth did I end up thinking about the Wolverine anyway? Oh yeah - scents. After Logan’s explanation about scents, I did feel sort of uncomfortable. You know, maybe my basic scent was plain gross to him. Okay, I didn’t think he’d be hanging out with me all the time if I smelled horrible, but I just had to ask. 

“You smell good, kid,” he’d said. “I like your scent.”

Enough to be interested sexually? The unspoken question was like the sword of Damocles above my head, but Logan didn’t explain any further and I never found the courage to ask. 

The rest of the day was pretty relaxed though. We had dinner, we talked - well, okay, I talked most of the time, and we got us a nice room again. So, all in all, quite an interesting day. 

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

* * *

“Hey kid, wake up.”

Fuck off. 

“Get that cute ass out of bed and into gear, Marie.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Let me sleep. 

Huh? 

Cute ass? Did he say *cute* ass? Since when does Logan use the word ‘cute’?

“What time is it?” I grumble and turn around, clutching my pillow. Damnit. No matter what time it is, it’s always too early.

“Time to get up.”

Oh, haha. So not funny. 

“Can I just have five more minutes?”

I know it sounds pathetic but I don’t give a damn. When I don’t get an answer, I secretly try to peek from under my covers, but I can’t find Logan anywhere. Then, before I can suspect anything, he jumps on my bed, startling the hell out of me and I shriek a very girlish, “Eeeeeep!”

The bastard dares to laugh and is crouching, all growling, towards me. Oh my God, this could get interesting. He looks half-predatory, half-smirking and the growls are very, very, *very* sexy. He’s fully dressed already, his hair still wet. Holy shit, how he looks good again. 

“Grrr.”

“Caveman,” I snort, but he’s crouching closer. Huh.

“Grrr.”

He’s resting on his hands and knees over me, growling and nuzzling my neck where it’s safely protected by my hair. It tickles and I giggle, trying to squirm away a little. What’s with him all of the sudden? He sure is good-tempered this morning. Oh damn, what’s he doing? 

“Grrr, woman. You smell so good I could bite you.”

His eyes are sparkling and he can’t hold back a smile. 

I giggle again. Not very grown up. I giggle like a schoolgirl when this damn sexy man is growling in my neck. I’m such a wimp. I know I supposed to pout and bat my lashes. I supposed to bite my lower lip and seduce him by saying, “Taste me, sugar”, but instead I flinch and laugh nervously. 

“Logan, be careful! Damn it, you moron, what’s with you this morning?”

“What? Can’t I just have a little fun?” he says with a grin and flops next to me on the bed. 

“No. You’re a badass, remember? You’re not supposed to have a fun. You have a reputation to protect.”

“Right. Let’s not forget I’m Wolverine. Slicing men and fucking women. A two-dimensional caricature,” he says dryly. 

“Whatever. Can you please shut up and let me recover from my heart attack?”

He bends over to – oh my God! He’s resting his head on my breasts! The fact that I’m covered by a fluffy duvet doesn’t matter. His head. My breasts. Oh, holy.

“There’s nothing wrong with your heart, darlin’. It’s pounding just fine.” He smirks while backing away again. “A little too fast, but steady.”

“Oh! You’re so mean!” I yell, feeling my cheeks redden. “Get out of here before I touch you and you’re comatose for a few hours!”

It works. He quickly places a chaste kiss on the top of my head and scoots away, laughing. 

“*Touchy* today, aren’t we?” 

I can’t help but laugh too while I throw my pillow to his head. 

Of course, I miss.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is very angsty and explicit. If you can't handle dark themes like sexual abuse, I advise you to skip this part. It will become just as dark later on, so if you can't handle this one, you might as well quit reading entirely.

It’s three hours later and we’re on the road once again. Logan hasn’t lost his good mood so far and we’ve been talking almost the entire time. Well all right, I’ve done most of the talking again, but he’s definitely with me today. This is what I’d pictured our trip to be in the first place. I’m having fun.

“Hey sugar, would you’ve slept with Katie if I wasn’t here?

“Who?”

I roll my eyes. “Drooling Katie. You know, from the pizza joint?”

Crinkling his nose, he asks, “*Drooling* Katie?”

“Yeah, she almost drooled all over my pizza, not to mention that she was probably soaking her panties at the same time. I hope she had spare ones and didn’t suffer any dehydration afterward. Jesus, it’s gross how all those women throw themselves at your feet.”

He smirks smugly. “You’re the only one I love, kid.”

Love? Did he just tell me he loves me? Holy shit, he really *is* in a good mood today. I try to ignore the butterflies going berserk in my stomach. 

“Yeah yeah, spare me the mushy talk. I’m so totally immune to your charms.” I wave my hand in the air, being the woman of the world that I am. “Now, answer my question. Would you have slept with her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t sleep with every woman who’s willing. You should now that.”

For a moment I think that he’s referring to my own willingness – shock! - but then I understand that he is talking about me having his memories. He’s right about that. He’s no saint, but he’s not randomly having sex either. For a guy who’s wanted by lots of eager women, he’s been pretty decent. He’s getting his fair share of screwing around, but it’s only with his regular women from around the fighting circuit. 

“Yes, I know, but I don’t know why.”

I’m seriously curious here. I don’t know why I want to know all this though. Maybe because I want to be sure that he doesn’t think of me as a burden. I mean, if he was tempted to sleep with her, my presence shouldn’t have made a difference. It’ll be painful to see him taking off with another woman, absolutely, but I don’t have any right to tell him that he shouldn’t. I know that perfectly well and I want him to know that I’m okay with that. Well, as okay as I can be with my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Hey, I’m just trying to be generous.

“What’s this? An interview about my sex-life?” he asks grimacing.

“Something like that, yeah. Come on, tell me. Don’t be shy,” I tease.

“Do I get a chance to ask about yours?”

Opening a bag of M&M’s, I snort. “I don’t have a sex-life.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t. After Remy--hey wait a minute. We were talking about you.”

He grins. “Okay. So why don’t I fuck around? Let me think about that one.”

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” I say and make myself comfortable in my seat. 

Diet coke – check. M&M’s – check. Sexy man – check. Yep, life is good.

I can tell that he’s really giving it some thought. After a few minutes, he starts explaining while he reaches for my favorite candy and tries to watch the road at the same time. 

“First, the women I sleep with know that I don’t want to be attached. They respect that. There are always women who seem to think that sex equals a relationship and that’s just makes it… tense to just leave afterwards. Most random fucks aren’t worth the trouble.”

I can’t imagine having sex without the aspect of love, but for once I manage to keep my big mouth shut. 

“Second,” he continues, “it’s safe.”

I perk up. Safe? Randomly having sex can be threatening for a guy, too? 

“What do you mean?”

“I know who they are. I know their name, where they live. Sex is a good way to catch me off guard and I can’t take the risk. I don’t know who’s looking for me, but I can be drugged when the dose is high enough.”

Wow. It sounds pretty exhausting to always be on the lookout.

“My turn.” He quickly reverses our roles before I can ask him more. “You’re pretty, you’re healthy. Why aren’t you having some fun?”

Yeah, good question. Maybe because the man I want to have fun with is screwing his ‘regular women’. 

Crap, I’m not letting this conversation spoil my mood. 

“Skin, mostly. There aren’t that many guys willing,” I tell him matter-of-factly, hoping he’ll buy it.

“Bullshit. There are ways and there are guys.”

He’s right once again. Can I tell him my feelings about his subject? He talks about it so easily. I don’t really talk about these things. Not even with Jubes or Kitty. And some things I don’t even discuss with myself. I don’t know if he’ll understand.

Suddenly feeling a bit shy, I say, “I’m not used to talking about this.”

He looks at me real intense for a moment before he returns his attention to the road and calmly answers, “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know. But maybe… I just need to get over this. And I trust you. More than my other friends.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I echo. 

Nervously clearing my throat, I put away my candy. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. 

“I’m technically still a virgin, but I’m not that innocent when it comes to sex. I’ve done stuff with Remy, and I have you and Erik up here.” I tap my head. “But unfortunately that’s not all there is.” I swallow hard. 

He doesn’t say anything. That’s good. I knew that I had to talk about this some day. Never thought it was this soon though. I need to know something first, before I can go on. 

“Do you think you can ignore something in way that, one day, you wonder if it ever happened at all?”

He frowns, clearly confused by my change of subject. “Sounds like the story of my life.”

Of course. I should’ve known. 

“And do you remember that I said I’d wish I could bury my crap? You know, the other day in the Jacuzzi?”

"Yeah.”

I look down at my gloves. “I think I’ve found a way.”

After what I interpret as an awkward silence, Logan asks calmly, “Are you going to dig it up again?”

“I know I should, but I don’t know how.” I shrug, still looking down at my nervously fumbling hands. 

Damn. I know I’m behaving childish, but I never thought it would be this tough to talk about all this. 

“Maybe by saying it out loud,” he suggests. 

“Maybe.”

Once again, I let silence fill in my loss, hoping he’ll drop this conversation. I don’t want to talk anymore. When I say it out loud, it will be real. I’ve been living in denial for so long, I almost convinced myself it never happened. 

Staring out of the window, I notice that Logan’s pulling over. Surprised, I look up and meet unfathomable eyes. 

“Dig it up, Marie.”

I feel a river of tears rising and I look away again. I don’t want him to see me cry. Not this time. I hate to be vulnerable.

After trying to get my emotions restrained, I take a deep breath and keep my eyes from searching his. Here goes nothing. 

“When I was on the road, this one guy gave me a ride. I was about less than two months on the street and I was out of money. He wanted… things from me. We were in the middle of God knows where and he patted my thigh, saying that I was such a ‘pretty little thing’. I panicked, obviously. Not only for what he wanted, but because of my skin, too. So I… I made him a deal.”

I swallow. Goddamnit, it’s even more difficult that I thought. 

“What kind of a deal?” 

His voice is calm. Soothing even. I’m bracing myself, but for what? Shock? Pity? Anger? I can take it. I know I can. 

Daring, I look at him. “I’d do him a sexual favor if he’d take me to the next town and kept his hands off of me.”

I don’t know what reaction I expected but I sure as hell didn’t think he wouldn’t react at all. Somehow that pisses me off. I’m almost overwhelmed here and he’s playing poker again. I can’t stand it. 

“A blowjob,” I tell him rebelliously. 

“I see,” is all he says, his eyes still locked onto mine.

What? He thinks that’s normal or something?

Suddenly pissed, I bitch, “You’re giving me a ride all the way to Anchorage. Guess I owe you at least one, too.”

I don’t know why I do this. It’s not fair, but it’s somehow satisfying. I got what I wanted - a reaction. 

Scowling, he reaches for something inside of his jacket. His wallet. He’s going to give me money? Oh, wait. A condom? What the fuck? 

He throws the little package in my lap and leans back in his seat. “You obviously know the drill. Help yourself,” he orders.

This isn’t what I intended. A cold shiver crawls up my spine and I feel my chest tighten. 

“No!” I snap, suddenly shocked to the bone. Goosebumps rise all over my body and I bet he sees the disbelief written all over my face. 

“Why not?” he shoots back. “Am I not good enough? You don’t do mutants?”

His eyes are so cold. Where’s that golden glint? What happened? How did we end up like this?

“You’re my friend,” I say, like that explains everything. God, I’m so confused.

“Really? Guess, that earns me a free *fuck*, too.”

Oh! The nerve! How dare he! 

I feel my eyes water out of anger. This time I don’t stop the tears. It’s no use. He’s so full of himself, I… I… damn! I hate him!

“Why are you doing this?” I hiss, trying to find my friend in those cold, unfamiliar eyes. 

Suddenly caring again, he returns, “Why are *you* doing this?”

We stare at each other in silence. 

I don’t know. I really don’t know why I tried to hurt him. He doesn’t deserve it and I know he never expected anything from me. Not even when he gave me the ride the day we first met. I have his memories, for God’s sake. 

But maybe I just don’t believe it. Maybe I just don’t believe in unconditional friendship or love anymore. Just like he doubts my love for him. He’s been too hurt to believe in my honesty. I understand it now, but I don’t want to be like that. I want to keep my faith that mankind is generally good. 

“Because I don’t know any other way to handle this,” I finally tell him while my voice breaks. 

“Then let me help you, kid.”

He reaches over to my arm, but I flinch away from him. I didn’t mean to. It just… happened.

He withdraws his hand and I can’t take it. I can’t deal with his disappointment. His hurt because of my rejection. It’s too much right now. So I do what I always do when I don’t know how to deal with my shit. I open the door and start running.

I should’ve known I wouldn’t get very far, of course. Two strong arms grab me from behind and we stumble, almost tripping over each other’s feet. 

“Let me go!” I yell, blinded by tears, and I try to fight my way out of his embrace. I even punch him in his stomach, but he doesn’t release his grip. “Let go, damnit!”

I struggle, fight and kick, but without saying anything he starts dragging me back to the truck again. A car passes by and it doesn’t stop. Bitterly I hope it’ll crash while I elbow Logan in the ribs. Not that it’s affecting him. I’m so pissed I even consider biting his hand.

Another car approaches. It slows down and pulls over, right behind us. We stop, too. I got what I wanted, but fuck, now what? Scream for help? Jesus, it’s starting to get complicated.

Two middle-aged men in nice looking suits step out of the car. One of them shouts, “Need a hand, miss?”

Like it’s normal to be dragged to a car, kicking and crying. Not to mention by a very pissed off, dangerous looking man. This is all too weird. If I weren’t furious, I’d be laughing my ass off.

“Fuck off,” Logan growls, sounding more than pissed himself. 

Oh God. That means trouble with a capital ‘T’.

“No, thanks!” I yell, still trying to squirm my way out of Logan’s grip. I bet that Houdini-guy couldn’t even escape from it. Oh, how I hate his strength right now.

“You sure, miss?” the other guy asks, not really convinced by my earlier statement. The first man is already getting his cell phone. 

“Yeah. He’s my brother,” I shout back while Logan starts hauling me with him again and I struggle like a hysteric child in the supermarket. “Thanks, though!”

The men look at each other, shrug and step in their car again. Good. Don’t want a slice ‘n dice fest up here. 

“Logan, you asshole, let me go, damnit!” I demand between clenched teeth and try to kick his ankle, but I only end up hurting my foot and almost tripping again. “Ow! Fuck!” I grunt.

Before I know it, he backs me up against the truck, holding me in place by grabbing my cloak. The way he looks should make me scared shitless, but suddenly I can help but laugh. This is all totally ridiculous. Look at us. Jesus, what on earth’s name are we doing?

“What’s so funny?” Logan snarls, clearly still extremely irritated. 

“You,” I choke while I sort of hang like a rag doll in my cloak. “Me. Us. This.” I can’t hold back the burst of laughter that follows. 

Logan is confused, but the way he frowns make me laugh even harder. Oh god, it’s all hilarious! Wait till I tell Jubes!

The tension I’d felt is leaving my body, the tears are rolling freely over my face and I laugh like I’ve never laughed before. 

Until I realize that I’m crying. 

I don’t even know how and when my laughter has changed into grief, but somehow it did and I can’t stop it. 

Logan releases his grip and cradles me in his arms against the truck. I blubber against his shirt, holding on to him like he’s my only salvation between utter hysteria and sheer misery.

“It’s okay. I’m here, Marie. Get it out,” he whispers against my hair.

I knew I had to cry over it someday, but doing so now makes it so damn real. How did I manage to ignore this god-awful feeling all these months? 

Logan continues his attempt at comforting me, caressing my back, “I want you to tell me everything. Details, all of them. Just tell me once and I’ll never mention it again if you don’t want to, but please, darlin’, you need to get it out of your system. Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” I say and cry like there’s no tomorrow. Between sobs and sniffles I choke out the whole story. 

“I had doubts about the guy the moment I accepted the ride, but that I ignored those feelings. Stupid, I know. After I realized what he wanted, I proposed a hand job, but he insisted to satisfy him… uh… let’s call it… orally. I was scared shitless that he’d kill me or that I’d kill him and have him in my head for the rest of my life, and this overwhelming feeling of staying alive at all costs had washed over me. I hadn’t eaten in three days, just like when you found me in your trailer. I had to do something, so… I agreed.”

I desperately need to blow my nose. Dripping snot is so gross, but I feel so fucked up right now, I better tell this all at once and be done with it. 

“He wanted me to do it right away and I tried to delay it until we were in town again, but he threatened to kick me out. I thought I’d die there all alone and so I bent over, took his… his… ugh, do I have to mention it?” I whimper pathetically. 

Turning us around so he is the one leaning against the truck, Logan says, “Details, kid.”

“Shit,” I mumble in his shirt and take a deep breath, wiping my nose with my glove. Eew. 

“Fine. So, I took his… dick… in my hand and started jerking until he was hard enough to use the condom he gave me. I don’t really remember much of that moment though. I don’t even know what his… dick looked like. Or felt like. I must have blocked it or something, whatever. I do know that it took quite some time before he was aroused enough. Maybe it was my lack of experience, or maybe he was just sexually frustrated. I didn’t care then and I sure don’t care now. All I wanted was to end it as soon as possible.”

I think about it for moment to gather all my thoughts, but then I continue, “You know what I think is the worst of it all? That was my first real sexual experience and my first actual sight and touch of a… a man’s sex, and even though I don’t really remember those details, I do know that I thought it was revolting and that that part of sex would be ruined with those disgusting memories forever.”

Again I need time to breathe. 

Logan still doesn’t say anything, but I don’t have the courage to look up. I’m sure I’ll start crying again. I’ve got it more or less under control now. I’ll just continue and get it over with. 

“When I finally did what he wanted, he kept pushing me down. If I’d had anything in my stomach, I’m sure I’d tossed it all over him, but like I’d said: I hadn’t eaten in three days.”

Oh God, the next part was so demeaning. I really don’t want to say it. I’m trembling all over. I tighten my grip around Logan’s waist. 

“I remember at some point, he said, ‘Take me deeper, you bitch. Suck me with all you have,’” I choke out, muffled in Logan’s shirt. 

Can it get more embarrassing?

He responds by cradling the back of my head in one hand, real gentle, not at all like that repulsive guy had done, and slowly caressing my hear. His other hand pulls me a little closer. It’s almost worth telling all this. 

“You know,” I mutter, “if he hadn’t been so disgusting, I might have bitten him. Somewhere in the back of my head I heard a voice whispering, ‘at least you have something to eat while he bleeds to death.’ It was sick and twisted and I’d thought I was losing my mind.”

But I have to be honest, it still sounds like a good idea to me. He would’ve deserved it, the creep. I’m not telling Logan though. It sounds really… off, I guess. 

“I don’t really know how long it took before he… came. Thank God for the condom. I sat back, surprisingly calm and somehow, he wasn’t all that tough anymore after that. I almost thought he was embarrassed, which made me despise him even more. That was such a weird moment. But he took me to the next town without trying anything else, as promised. It felt like a hostile truce, wrapped in silence. Only when we reached a parking lot, he started talking again. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘You need anything?’ 

“I wondered of that was some sort of apology, but if it was, he could shove it up his ass. I gave him my best ‘I hope you rot in hell’-look and got out. I didn’t even look back when he drove off. It had felt so unreal; I started to wonder if it even happened at all.”

I rethink my words for a moment. I never cried. I just shoved it in the back of my head and moved on. How on earth did I manage to do that? How could I’ve forgotten all this? Shit, I suddenly feel sick. Oh, no!

Before I can really register what I’m doing, I’ve pushed myself out of Logan’s embrace and I’m on hands and knees, throwing up my last meal, which has to be donuts and M&M’s. Ugh.

Within seconds, Logan’s hunkered down next to me, holding a bottle of water and silently caressing my back. I rinse my mouth before leaning heavily against him. I’m so tired. I just want to crawl in bed and hide. I feel like I can sleep for a week. Never thought talking about all this could be so exhausting. 

He scoots back until he leans against the pick-up and drags me along with him. I don’t have the strength to protest, but I am aware that I’ve splattered against my sleeves. Gross. I must smell awful. 

Sleep. I just want to sleep. 

Logan’s heartbeat is so steady and so calming. So safe. He doesn’t say anything, just holding me close again. I want to know what he’s thinking though. 

“Say something?” I ask.

“I’m sorry,” is all he answers, but it’s enough to make me cry again.


	10. Chapter 10

The last few days went by in some sort of a daze. I’ve slept a lot, cried a lot, talked a lot and thought even more. I also told Logan about my feelings when I was captured by Erik. I felt fucked up anyway, might as well get it all out at once. 

He was there just like I’d pictured he would be. He comforted me and listened to all my fears, my thoughts. Like no other he knows what it feels like to be used like something worthless, a thing. It can seriously fuck up your self-esteem if you don’t have someone there to tell you that you’re worth more. 

Logan never had that person - or he never let anyone close enough - but he’s the one telling me that I am. He also told me that, even though what had happened with the guy in the truck seemed like something disgusting, with the right person it can be something good. He hoped that I wouldn’t feel awkward about it for the rest of my life, because it can also be considered as a very intimate way of sharing feelings. He warned me not to let that creep ruin something so natural for lovers. He wasn’t worth a lifetime trauma.

I guess that was another embarrassing moment. I couldn’t face him during that conversation, but I was glad he told me. I’d thought about it before and I simply couldn’t imagine doing what I did with someone else ever again. It would be too much of a reminder, but now, I think a little different about it all. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider it with the right guy. With enough trust. Enough love. Maybe it can be good, and maybe I’ll even enjoy it when I’ll see that I’m satisfying the man I love. I just need time and the right guy. I hope.

So, I feel a lot better actually. We’ve also talked about the accepting process. Logan said that I have to acknowledge something first before I can grief over it. Then I must mourn in order to accept it and move on. That man is a damn good shrink. I’m not saying I feel on top of the world right now, but I’m definitely on my way up again. 

It was good to tell Logan everything. I think that was the hardest part. All I have to do now is grieve over it and accept that it has happened. I can do that. It’s a maturity-thing, I guess. It seems like I’ve grown as a person in barely a week. Of course, it helps that I’ve got my best friend right there next to me. 

Today, we’re still heading to Alkali Lake but we’re taking our time. There are a few things I wanted to see and a few places I wanted to visit, and so we sometimes hang out in a park, or a town, or whatever I have in mind. I always wanted to kick ass at the pool table, so I asked Logan to teach me how to play. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever learn the game if he continues balancing all that heat-radiating hardness over me while I’m bent over and desperately trying not to hold that cue too suggestively. It’s very fascinating how his body curls perfectly around mine. It’s plain torture, I swear. 

We’ve also been to the movies. A romantic comedy - my pick, of course. Logan put his arm around me, and I got to lean against him for almost two hours. I don’t remember much about the movie though. The way his knee sometimes touched mine was much more interesting. Not to mention that he, at one point, started playing with my hair. I think he did it subconsciously, but still, it was enough to make me very aware of the fact that I had nipples.

Jesus, that was seriously uncomfortable. 

I’d thought about putting my hand on his thigh as a response, but in the end decided not to. 

Actually, I simply chickened out. 

I still mentally slap myself for letting an opportunity like that slip because of my cowardliness. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed. Oh well, the way I cuddled up in his arms is something I still daydream about, so I consider myself lucky for now. 

I know I’m behaving very girlish about these things. He doesn’t mean to get me all swooning just by being close to me, but I simply can’t help myself. He’s just too sexy. I almost have to make sure I don’t trip over my own tongue when I deliberately trail after him, staring at his perfect, jean-clad ass. I tell myself that I need some of those fantasies to outweigh my haunting, dark ones, but it’s plain crap. In truth, I’m about to jump him, tear off his shirt and beg him to ride me hard and wild. 

So, despite the fact that I had a very emotional breakdown, I guess I’m almost back to being my dorky self again. Why Logan still wants to hang out with me is really beyond my knowledge, but I’m not going to ask him. Who knows, he might realize that he’s actually fed up with me and run like hell. Nope, don’t want that. I’ll just live by the day and cherish every form of affection he shows me. I just hope my nipples won’t betray me anymore. Thank God it was dark in there and he doesn’t seem to be aware of my breasts.

On the other hand – crap, why isn’t he aware of my breasts? You can hardly miss them. They’re kind of huge compared to the rest of me, and my cleavage supposed to be my secret weapon. Damn that man’s thick skull. The fact that it’s adamantium-laced is *not* an excuse. No way. 

But to be a bit more serious again, I sometimes wonder if he knows what he means to me. I think he does, but still, I want to tell him how much I love him for being here. For dealing with my shit while he’s still dealing with his own. How I wish I could reverse my mutation sometimes. I’d pour all my love into him and then he’d really know for sure. He doesn’t have to act on it. I just want him to know. 

“Hey, kid?”

I was so lost in thought that he startles me a bit. We’re driving once again, and for the past two hours I’ve been analyzing our trip so far. Logan hasn’t said a word but that’s okay. Like I’ve said before: we’re good at being quiet together. 

“Hmm?” 

“Would you mind meeting a few of my friends?”

Friends? He has friends? Or does he mean his bimbo’s?

“Who?”

“Just a few people I know. We’re close by and it’s been a while since I’ve been around. They’ll get us a cabin.”

I shrug, not really sure if I want to meet these people if they are women, but I can’t say that out loud, of course. “Sure.” 

Logan’s friends. Hmm. Maybe I should dig up some of his memories again.

* * *

Logan parks the car in front of a place somewhat similar to the bar in Laughlin City. The sign says ‘Helaku’ and I wonder what it means. Maybe Logan knows. 

“This is it?”

“Yeah.” 

He doesn’t really move. He just stares at the sign, both hands still on the steering wheel. I can’t really tell what he’s feeling, but he seems to be lost in thought. 

“What does “Helaku” mean?”

Snapping out of his musing, he grabs a cigar and lighter. “Hel-ah-koo,” he corrects me, “Sunny Day.”

Hmm, it is a sunny day, today. Cold, but sunny. Not that it matters. The place is called ‘Sunny Day’ when it’s rains too. I chuckle because of the lack of logic in my own thoughts. Also, why am I feeling nervous all of a sudden? I feel like I’m going to be introduced to my boyfriend’s parents.

“Hel-ah-koo,” I repeat loudly. 

“Yeah. The owner’s name is Tyee. He’s helped me after… the lab.”

I try to scan him. He seems nervous. Or maybe anxious is a better way to describe his sudden restlessness. 

“Does he know?” I ask softly, not wanting to upset him more. “About what happened there?”

Logan takes a deep breath and stares at the sign again, his cigar still unlit in one hand. “He knows about my healing.”

Aha. Logan isn’t really keen on sharing private stuff. I consider myself lucky that he talks to me like he does. But then again, I have his memories. He knows that I already know almost everything about him. 

This place brings back memories for the both of us. Most of Logan’s stuff in my head is faded or safely locked by the Professor, but right now a memory of a Native American pops up. Chubby guy. Grey hair. Ponytail. I think I’ll recognize him soon enough. 

Logan continues, “There’s probably someone with him. Her name is Vivian.”

Vivian? Doesn’t ring a bell right away, but I bet she’s one of his ‘women’. I don’t really know if I want to meet her. Is he going to fuck her tonight? Is that why we’re here? He needs to get laid?

“Is she a friend, too?” I ask a bit reluctantly.

He thinks about it and finally settles for, “She’s okay, you’ll see.”

I doubt I’ll think of her to be ‘okay’, but Logan apparently has his head up his ass and doesn’t see my unwillingness to actually meet someone of his harem. He knows my feelings, how can he be so heartless? I do want to meet Tyee though. I feel like I should thank him for taking care of Logan. That was sixteen years ago and I was only two years old at the time, so it’s fairly ridiculous. 

“Come on, kid. I can use a drink.”

He jumps out of the truck with a sudden energy, almost like he’s dying to see his friends again. Did he miss that Vivian-woman? Is she important to him? Why didn’t I know that? Fuck. This isn’t going the way I wanted. I thought *I* was his best friend. 

I trudge after him, but I’m not really sure he’s aware of me behaving like a sulking kid. I can’t help it. I know this trip was all about me so far and he hasn’t really asked for anything, but I hate the thought of him being in the arms of another woman tonight. Forget my earlier generosity. I know now that there is a huge difference between *knowing* he’s screwing around and seeing him do it right under my very own nose. 

The moment Logan opens the door, I hear a woman’s squeal of delight and before I know what’s going on, I see hands grabbing his ass while she hugs him. 

Get your hands off my man, you bitch! 

I hate her already. This is going to be hell, I swear. What did I do to deserve this? 

“Viv,” is all Logan says, but I can hear that he’s smiling. He retreats from her suggestive embrace and takes a step aside. ‘Viv’ and I are now looking at each other. She’s giving me a once over and then she looks at Logan again with a surprisingly warm smile.

“Who’s the beautiful dyani?” she asks him. 

What the fuck? Dyani? What’s that? English, people, English! 

Logan grins and he turns to me. “The beautiful ‘deer’ is Rogue.” His eyes now lock onto Vivian’s. “She’s my aquene,” I hear him say seriously. 

His what? His friend? His family? His lover? Ha! As if! This language-thingy is really getting on my nerves, damnit. Vivian understands, though. She nods slowly. 

“Kid, this is Vivian.”

“Hello, honey. Any friend of Logan’s is a friend of mine.”

Vivian offers me her hand, golden bracelets tingling, and somehow she still manages to maintain that warm smile. She’s pretty, I have to admit. And she does look familiar thanks to the Logan in my head. Mid-thirties, maybe. Dark curly hair, dark eyes, big earrings, lots of make-up, tight blouse showing an impressive amount of cleavage, scandalously short denim skirt, killer legs and five inch high heels. 

My God, I’d trip on those. I have to give her credit if she can walk around normally. Suddenly my Docs look kind of clumsy. 

She looks like the favorite barfly, but somehow I get a feeling that she knows what a bitch life can be. I’m certain now that she’s one of Logan’s women, but I can’t make an ass out of myself and refuse her hand, so I shake it. 

“Hi,” I even manage to choke as a reply. She doesn’t seem jealous. Is she that certain that he’ll be with her tonight?

“Dakota! My boy, are you going to stand there all night?”

A dark, husky voice calls out from behind the bar and when both Logan and Vivian turn around, I see ‘Tyee’. He’s just like I remember him from Logan’s memories. His long, grey hair in a ponytail, kind face and laughing eyes. From what I can see, he’s dressed similar to Logan, only his flannel shirt is about to burst open to reveal a very big tummy. I like the guy right away. 

Logan walks up to the bar, leaving me to stare at ‘Viv’. She still smiles back at me, and she looks genuinely happy to see Logan. I’m not really sure what to make of all this. 

Tyee meets Logan halfway and they embrace each other. He even wears a buckle similar to Logan’s. What’s this? His fan club? Am I being introduced to his groupies?

“Dakota, good to see you, son. It’s been too long.” 

Tyee kindly slaps Logan on the back and I see Logan smiling back at him as I walk up to them. A real smile. A smile he usually reserves for me only me. I’m instantly jealous and probably being unreasonable about it, but to hell with logic. I thought I was special.

“Sorry, Chief. I’ve been busy.”

Tyee now looks at me with curious eyes. “So I see.”

Logan chuckles. “This is Rogue. Rogue, Tyee.”

Tyee walks up to me and wants to hug me. I seek out Logan’s eyes and he smiles back at me, letting me know that it’s okay. Carefully, I embrace the big man, hoping that I don’t knock him out with exposed skin somewhere. 

“Welcome, my dear,” I hear him say and I actually *do* feel welcome. 

“Thanks,” I smile back at him.

Still curiously watching me, he winks and says, “Vivian was right. Dyani’s eyes. I bet Dakota can’t resist those.” 

Dyani means ‘deer’, right? Hmm, nice compliment. I think I’m actually blushing. Why is he calling Logan ‘Dakota’?

“You’re right, I can’t,” Logan smirks, “but don’t tell her. She’ll take advantage of me.”

I laugh and so does Tyee.

“It’s always the women who bring the downfall, son. Now, let’s sit down, so you can start explaining what you’ve been up to so far.”


	11. Chapter 11

Two hours later Tyee, Logan and I are still all at the bar. Logan’s sitting on a barstool, leaning against a wall. I’m sitting on a barstool too. Between his thighs. Yeah, didn’t even initiate that. He just dragged me with him, sat down, pulled the stool between his legs and sort of planted me on it. But hey, who am I to complain? I lean against his chest, feeling all cozy with Logan’s protective arm loosely around my waist. 

I can get used to this. 

Tyee and Vivian are behind the bar, but Vivian is talking to the other customers. She sometimes mingles in the conversation between Logan and Tyee, and I’ve found out that she’s funny. I hate to admit that. And she really does seem like a nice person. I hate to admit that too. I also hate the way she’d rubbed Logan’s thigh before she went back behind the bar. The way she touches him so easily annoys the crap out of me. And he lets her. He didn’t react to it, but he doesn’t really seem to be bothered by her behavior either. 

I sure am. 

Pitiful. Just pitiful. 

I listened to Logan when he told Tyee how we met and about my mutation. Now they are talking about the fighting circuit and their acquaintances. I’ve given up trying to stay on track an hour ago. Partly because I’ve had three beers already and partly because some guy is checking me out. He’s cute in a boyish way. Not anywhere near a sex-god such as Logan, but he’s definitely cute. I’ve been secretly flirting with him.   
Naughty me.

I wonder if he has the guts to talk to me while Logan’s holding me like this. If he has, I’ll talk back. I’d owe him that much. Oh, there you go. He’s trying to walk casually to the bar where Logan and I are sitting. I smile at him and playfully look away. That should do the trick. 

Why can I flirt with him so easily while I act like such a dork around Logan? It’s not fair. 

Cutie stands next to me and he orders a few beers for him and his friends. Vivian helps him, and when he waits for the beers, he looks around only to ‘accidentally’ see me. I suppress a grin and cock my head a little, smiling.

“Hi,” he says, looking a bit worried from me to Logan and back.

“Heya, sugar,” I drawl. 

Heheheh, come to momma, baby. 

Logan doesn’t respond, so I guess he’s too occupied with Tyee, or he doesn’t give a fuck about me flirting. It makes me even more determined to get to know this boy. Logan’s going to be with Vivian tonight, so I wanna have a little fun myself as well. 

“So, uh…,” cutie stammers, “so… you’re with him?” He jerks his head toward Logan. 

“I’m with him, but I’m not *with* him,” I reply, still smiling.

“Oh. Oh, good. ‘Cause uh… I… would you like to dance?”

Oh my. He’s a sweetie. And as a matter of fact, “I’d love to.” 

I feel Logan’s arm letting go of me and I slowly rub my hands over his thighs as I let myself slide off the stool. I thought that he was too occupied with Tyee to notice me. Guess I was wrong. 

“Logan, I’m on the dance floor.”

“Have fun, darlin’,” he smirks, arching an eyebrow at cute boy. He seems amused by this all, damnit. I want him to be jealous. Just like I am about Vivian. 

Oh, what the hell. I smile at cutie and follow him. 

“So, what’s your name?’ he asks when we walk up to a small, worn-out, wooden dance-area. It’s not that crowded, so no skin-worries.

“Dyani. It means ‘deer’. What’s yours?”

“Kenneth,” he says. “Nice name. Suits you. Who’s the guy you’re with?”

“My protective, big brother. So you just watch out. He’s a real bad-ass,” I tease. 

Kenneth smiles, but he’s casting worried glances towards Logan again. 

He reminds me of Bobby a bit. Same looks. He’s definitely not a routine-player like Remy. But it doesn’t really matter. I’m not going home with him or anything. Still, it’s nice to meet a cute guy. Maybe I should go out with Bobby when I’m home again. I know he likes me. 

Oh well, I don’t want to think anymore. The music is taking me to a higher level. The rhythm is flowing through me, and like always, I loose myself in the dance, driven by the beat only. 

I had a few passions when I was still Marie. Playing piano was one of them. Dancing was the other. Ballet and Jazz mostly. Some Modern too. No one at the Mansion knows though. It feels like another lifetime.

Kenneth is on cloud nine, I bet. I move against him, grind into him, spin away and twirl around him. Music is my drug and I feel sexy when I dance. I know from experience that my lack of grace in real life is fully compensated when I dance. I was Madam Amalia’s best pupil. How I miss my ballet-teacher and her little studio sometimes. 

Not wanting to dwell on memories, I try to focus on the music again. I’m fully covered, so I don’t need to worry about a dance of death. Don’t want to accidentally kill a cutie like him. 

I’ve got my eyes closed, but I am suddenly aware that Logan’s watching me. I can feel his intense gaze caress my body and my stomach flips. I rock my hips; let my hands roam over my clothes and through my hair. I want him to want me. I want him to see me. See the woman in me. *Want* the woman in me. The beat feeds my burning desire and I feel the heat taking over. 

See me, Logan. Want me like I want you. 

When the music finally fades, I look up again. Kenneth’s face a bit flushed. He thinks he’s going to be lucky tonight. Too bad, cutie. You’re not the man I want. 

“Thanks, sugar,” I say. “I needed that.”

I want to turn around, but he grabs my arm. 

“Wait! Are you leaving already?”

I try to flash him an apology-smile. “Yeah, but maybe I’ll see you again someday?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I live in the neighborhood.”

“Oh good. I’ll see you around then.”

I don’t wait for his answer. I turn around and catch Logan indeed looking at me, but his eyes are hidden in a shadow and I can’t read what he’s thinking. Did he see me? Really see me? I don’t know. All I know is that I want him. Right here. Right now. 

I hop back on the stool again, my hands on his hard, warm thighs. Oh, the seduction of his intoxicating presence. I’m totally lusting after him right now. He must smell my desire, but surprisingly, I really don’t care. I guess the combination of alcohol and the music makes me light-headed, not to mention totally shameless. 

He wraps his arm around me again, pulling me close and I melt against him. He bends his head and I feel his sideburns against my cheek, causing me to shiver. I know he feels my reaction, but again, I don’t give a fuck. His breath smells like beer and I want to kiss him. Lick beer off those lips. Taste him. My God, I think I’m going nuts here. 

“Quite a show you put on up there,” he mumbles with slightly hoarse voice. 

I turn my head and whisper close to his ear, “For you only, sugar.”

I take his beer out of his hand and he lets me. Slowly taking a sip, I want him to be aware of the fact that sharing his drink is something intimate. I want my breath to smell like his, leaving my flavor on the bottle for him to taste. I’m not sure if this claming-behavior is a left-over from the Wolverine in me, but I simply want all of him. He already gives me so much, but the part I crave, he denies me. That’s for Vivian. Or the other sluts.

He pulls me even closer with one hand, while the other takes back his beer and he drinks the liquid, too. Can he taste me on the bottle? Does he like it?

I wasn’t aware of the fact that I was caressing his upper leg, but he brusquely puts the bottle down on the bar and prevents my hand from moving. 

“Stop that,” he grunts.

“Why?”

I seriously want to know. Why can Vivian touch him like that and I can’t?

“Tight jeans,” is all he replies, but I’m taken aback. 

Did I hear that right? I turn a little so I can face him, but he’s already telling Tyee to get a bottle of Tequila. The eyes of his old friend seem to sparkle with joy. 

“Tequila? Just like old times?” he asks.

Still holding my hand in place on his leg, Logan grins. “Just like old times.”

I must have heard it wrong. I probably heard just what I wanted to hear. Yeah, that must be it. Freudian hearing. Does that even exist? I’m incapable of arousing Logan. I’ve been parading around in thongs and he never even glanced at me. Well, not that I’ve seen, anyway. I’ve also been pressing my ass against him in bed and several times during his playing-pool-lessons and I never felt his body react to mine. 

Although – now that I think of it - he did scoot back once or twice. Interesting. I should think this all over once I’m sober again. Yeah, good plan. 

Meanwhile, Tyee has placed shot glasses on the bar – three normal ones and a bigger glass for Logan. That means Logan’s going to get drunk, too. Oh my, that’ll be fun. I’ve only ever seen him buzzed a little. 

Vivian is coming up with the slices of lime and the salt. I never drank Tequila. I hope I can hold it and not end up puking all over the place, or even worse, climbing on the bar for a striptease or something. Besides that fact that I’d make a total ass of myself, I still have my deadly skin issue. Ugh.

Logan bends over again and releases his grip on my hand. “You’re up for it?”

“Yeah.”

“Know what to do?”

“Nope. I’m a virgin, sugar. Teach me?” I whisper against the collar of his flannel and let one finger trail from his knee up towards his hip again, causing him to shift a little. 

I hear him mutter, “Little vixen,” and I can’t help but grin smugly. I’m having the time of my life tonight. Vivian be damned. With any luck, Logan is getting so damn drunk tonight, he won’t even be able to perform anyway. Then I’ll take him to that cabin, where ever that may be, and tuck him in. Maybe I even cop a feel here and there. Oh, yeah.

Hey, cutie Kenneth is trying to make eye-contact again. He’s leaving with his friends and he still got that worried look on his face, like he’s not sure what to think of Logan and me. Can’t blame him. 

I give him my sweetest smile and enjoy being mean. Bye bye, cutie-pie. I’m going to sleep with my so called brother tonight. 

“Alright darlin’, pay attention,” Logan tells me while Kenneth is trailing after his friends. 

Oh yeah, Tequila. 

“First you dampen the back of your hand, so take off your glove.” He licks his own hand and I’m fascinated instantly, considering Kenneth history. “Then you pour on the salt, lick it, down the tequila and bite a slice.” 

He does so and carelessly wipes away a trail of juice from his lips. “Got it?” 

I nod. “Lick, drink, bite. Got it.”

Tyee nods, too. “Exactly. Viv? Coming?”

Vivian hurries our way again after pouring a few other drinks. Logan’s filled all our glasses and we all lick our hands, sprinkle salt and then down the liquid.

Eeeww! Gross!

“Here.” 

Logan’s holding up a slice of lime and I bite it, hoping I suck the juice only and not the life out of him with his bare fingers that close to my mouth. 

“Better?”

“Fuck, that’s nasty!” I gasp ungracefully. 

Three grins greet me when I open my eyes again after I’m done grimacing, and I’m suddenly very aware of that fact that I am the youngest. A kid, compared to them. I’m completely misplaced here. What am I thinking? That Logan could be interested in me? What a joke! 

The man of my dreams stares at me intensely. “Do you want to quit?”

“Hell, no!” I tell him, not wanting to spoil the evening. Besides, Logan quickly downed two big glasses already. Christ, is he going to be a goner tonight. I want to stay in this game. 

“Okay, round two for the rest of us mortals,” Tyee announces, and we down the next shots quite rapidly. 

I can see that Vivian and Tyee are used to this, but after three beers earlier and three shots of tequila, I’m out. 

I rest my head on the bar, trying to figure out how on earth I ended up on a merry-go-round. Can somebody please stop this place from spinning? Pulling on my glove again, I mumble, “Zzzllleep…”  
Logan wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back again. I don’t think I have working muscles right now. I just sort of hang half on my barstool and half on his lap. Everything is fine by me. I just don’t want to think, talk or move anymore. 

Night ya’ll…


	12. Chapter 12

"Come on darlin'. Work with me here."

Go away.

Someone is trying to hold me up and put on my cloak, but my legs are like jelly. I open one eye and, unless I’m seeing things in triple, there are three empty bottles of tequila. Vivian and Tyee look kind of tipsy, and when I look up to the one who’s dressing me, I see that Logan isn’t all clear-headed himself. 

Is he wearing a cowboy hat? 

“Looks good, sugar.”

Yeah, really yummy, but can’t I just sleep here on the floor? The place is empty, anyway.

Logan’s still holding me, struggling to get my arm in a sleeve and I hear him chuckle. Tyee and Vivian laugh too and that makes me giggle. No sign of a hangover yet. I’m just very, very drunk. 

His buckle. I hook my fingers behind that beacon and hold on for dear life. Yeah, I can stand up a little now. I’m vaguely aware of the others talking. I can’t make out the words but I don’t care. Oops, my legs are giving up on me again.

Logan pulls me against his side and starts dragging me with him. I don’t want to open my eyes, so I just struggle to concentrate on my steps, hoping he’ll know the way. 

The sudden burst of cold and fresh air tells me that we’re outside. Between narrowed eyes, I wonder why everything is so bright all of a sudden. Is it morning already?  
Wait a minute. It’s snow. It’s snowing! 

I look up and let go of Logan, but immediately fall flat on my ass. I giggle again and Logan towers above me, smirking. That hat sure does look good on him. I’ve got my own cowboy. Yippie kay yey, sugar!

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nope, I’m smashed.”

“Me too,” he answers and sits down next to me in the cold.

With my last strength, I take a handful of the snow and try to rub it in his face, but drunk or not, his senses aren’t that intoxicated. He stops me and makes me rub it in my own.

I spit, cough and laugh. He’s chuckling and he tries to get up but his hand slides from under him and he falls back. In my blurry state of mind I think it’s hilarious and I almost piss my pants from snickering. 

“We need to get up before you freeze to death, kid,” he says, but he doesn’t move, lying on his back, just like me.

“Nah, let’s just stay here for a while and watch the flakes falling down.”

“Ever seen flakes falling up?”

Snorting, I faintly slap his shoulder. “Smart-ass.”

The door swings open and then I see Vivian hovering over us.

“What on earth are you two doing here?” 

“Philosophizing gravity,” Logan answers dead-serious. It makes both Viv and me laugh.

“Need any help getting up?” she offers.

I shrug. “Maybe.” I don’t think I can get up all by myself. 

“We’re fine,” Logan mumbles next to me. He’s trying to stand up again. 

Viv disappears out of my vision, but I hear her footsteps crunching in the snow. She’s walking up to Logan, who’s managed to get up by himself, and then she presses herself against him. 

No. No, no, no! He’s not going with her. No way. 

I clamber out the snow, trying to keep an eye on Logan and Vivian, and I’m getting furious when I see her hands roaming down over his chest and stomach, ending up cupping the lump in his jeans. 

That bitch! She’s so dead. I’m going touch her. Suck the life out of her. Dead!

She whispers something against his lips, but Logan shakes his head faintly smiling. He takes both her hands off of him and brings them to his mouth for a chaste kiss. 

Good boy. You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet, but you’re so mine. I just have to get up and claim my man. That’s right, claim him. I’ll just bite his neck or something. Oh wait, he’ll heal. Maybe I’ll write ‘Owned by Rogue’ on his chest with a marker. Or even better – scents! Animals do something with scents, right? So, I’ll… uh… I’ll rub my scent all over him. Yeah, I like the sound of that. Naked, sweaty, passionate rubbing. Oh yeah!

Crap, what am I thinking? I’ll probably kill him with that skin of mine. 

Ah, I got it! Territorial behavior! 

All I have to do is just piss all over him and uh… eew! That’s so gross! Jesus, I’m *not* going all kinky here. Ugh, I can’t think straight anymore, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out. Right now, I have to concentrate on facing the world from a vertical position again.

Just when I think I’ve accomplished my goal, I slip and end up face down in the cold this time. “Oomph!” 

Crap.

I feel someone lifting the back of my cloak and grabbing the waistband of my jeans. I’m being pulled up with my ass in the air. Oh, very elegant. I think I’m getting sick from hanging up-side-down like that. 

“Get up, kid. Come on.”

“I’m fine,” I growl. I actually growl. Quite an impressive one as well. I must be more pissed off than I thought. 

When I’m back on my feet again, I try to clear up my head by shaking it, but that’s a stupid thing to do when you’re intoxicated. I’m dizzy. Oh, fuck. And I’m not the only one, I see. Vivian tries swaying her hips while she stumbles over the parking lot with her five inch stilettos in the snow. It’s just a silly sight, I can’t help but giggle. 

“What’s so funny?” I hear Logan groan while he’s lugging my sorry ass toward a cabin I hadn’t noticed before, but I can’t seem to say anything. I’m so shitfaced.

“Sick?” he asks while he fumbles with the lock of the cabin and tries to hold me up at the same time by using a very interesting tactic. One leg firmly pressed between mine, his left hip keeping me against the doorframe and one arm around me, preventing me from sliding sideways. If I wasn’t feeling this shitty… 

“Ugh,” is all I answer.

The door opens and we stumble into a dark place where it smells kind of stale. At least it’s warm. Logan kicks the door closed and then I feel us falling onto a soft bed together.

“We need to get out of our wet clothes,” Logan mumbles in my hair.

In any other context I’d be happy to, but I can’t stand the thought of moving right now. 

“Sick,” I whine.

“Can you make it to the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Fuck.”

I suddenly feel a hand on my face. A *bare* hand. He’s touching me. Oh, no. No! 

But it’s too late. I already feel his healing energy floating into me for just a brief moment. He breaks contact before I can say anything, his arm falling heavily over my stomach. 

I’ll be damned. I’m feeling better already. But - “Logan? Are you okay?”

“Hmm.”

“Damn you, stupid. This wasn’t life-threatening. What were you thinking?”

His groan his muffled by a pillow. “I’m so screwed.” 

Of course. His healing factor is fighting a few bottles of Tequila and my poisoned touch. No wonder he’s dead-drunk right now. The upside is, I’m feeling quite fine. Yep, fresh as a daisy. But then again, three beers and three Tequila shots are peanuts for his powers.

I’m getting out of bed - Logan doesn’t respond – and I shake off my cloak. This place seems cozy. Smells like wet dogs – thanks for the temporarily enhanced senses, sugar, - and I have yet to see it in daylight of course, but from what I can make of it with Logan’s much better night vision, it looks nice. Queen size bed in the middle of the room, small couch, small wooden table, TV, small kitchen with a little dining area and two chairs. Cute. I also I find the door to a bathroom with a bathtub, toilet and a shower – all clean.

I hang my cloak over a dining chair, take off my Doc’s, and stare at that gorgeous man sleeping on his stomach, sprawled all over the bed. How I would like to run my hands all over him. He’s so out - he’ll never know. But – ugh. Get a grip, pervert. He risked his life preventing us from waking up in a puke-stained bed, and all I can think of is feeling him up while he’s passed out. I should be ashamed of myself. 

I’m not. 

Well, okay. A little. 

Still, I need to get practical instead of drooling over his perfect behind. I walk over to him and try to take off his jackets. He doesn’t respond though. Shit. He isn’t dead, is he? I mean, he has enough healing factor left to fight alcohol poisoning, right?

“Logan?”

No answer.

“Logan, say something?”

Silence and no movement whatsoever. Is he still breathing? Oh, shit. 

“Logan!” I shake his shoulder. “Please, say something!”

“Not now, darlin’. I’ve got a headache,” he grunts half smirking, half grimacing and hides his face in the pillow again. 

I can’t help but chuckle. Brazen asshole. At least he’s not dead. Good. That means I can undress him. Oh, life is good right now. 

I manage to take off the jackets, boots and socks. He doesn’t cooperate, but that’s the easy part. I don’t feel like falling asleep with that buckle poking in my back, so that means he’s loosing the belt, too. 

I try to roll him over, but damn, he’s heavy. After a few tries and almost a hernia without his healing, he’s finally on his back, still not responding. 

Okay. Unbuckle. 

Uhm…

My hands are trembling and my heart is fluttering in my chest. I’m all giddy. Jesus, how pathetic can I be? Just unbuckle the damn thing. I can do this. It’s just a belt, for crying out loud. 

Okay, here we go. 

I bend over, shuffle closer and – there you go. See? Easy-peasy. Logan doesn’t even react, so everything is going great. All I have to do now is pull the belt out of his indecently tight jeans. Piece of cake. 

As I am fumbling with the leather, I feel a prickling sensation crawling up my spine. Those enhanced senses sure come in handy, because now I know that he’s awake. I look up and meet blurry, hazel eyes and an arched eyebrow. 

“Enjoying yourself?”

I feel a wide grin spreading all over my face. “Yep.”

He shows me a very lazy, sexy smile. “You’re taking advantage of the circumstances.”

“I know,” I say, still grinning.

He tiredly closes his eyes. “Okay.”

I blink twice. Huh? 

He lifts his hips a little and I can’t help but thinking that I want to straddle him as I pull the belt free and out of his jeans. It falls next to the bed with a thud, but when I pull his shirt out of his jeans, his hands cover mine. 

“Stop fumbling and lay down,” he grunts with his eyes still closed.

Bummer. 

Before I’m down and comfortable, Logan pulls me close curls himself around my body. 

“Sleep, Marie,” he mumbles into my hair.

“I need to brush my teeth and our clothes are wet.” 

I frown at my own answer. What am I thinking? The sexiest man in the universe is clutching onto me and I’m thinking about momma’s rule to always brush my teeth before bed. Christ. Besides, our bags are still in the truck; we can’t change and sleeping naked is not an option. At least, not for one of us. 

“Shut up and let me hold you.” 

Fine by me, sugar. I just want to know one thing. 

I turn around so I can face him, but he pulls me down a little so he can rest his chin on the top of my head. I bury my face against his chest while one hand accidentally ends up on his behind. Of course I leave it there. Suits me just fine. And while our legs tangle naturally, he presses me fully against him. 

We’ve never ended up like this before. This close. This… entwined. It’s all quite… exciting.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?” 

“What did you say to Vivian?”

“When?” his sleepy voice murmurs. I can feel the deep rumble in his chest. 

“When you introduced me. You said ‘she’s my -’ and then you said a word I forgot.”

“My aquene.”

“Yeah. That’s it. What does it mean?”

“My peace,” he whispers against the top of my head. “You’re my peace.”

Oh. 

Is there anything I can say to that? 

I feel his body relax against mine and I know from his steady breathing that he’s fallen asleep. I should enjoy this moment but I’m too confused. Why is he doing this? Doesn’t he know how much this is hurting me? He’s providing me hope. Childish hope. I’ve been trying to fight that stupid hope with a good deal of realism for the past year. Not always successfully, but mostly good enough to prevent myself from crying into my pillow, whining that life is so fucking unfair. 

All too late now. I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love again with the man who’s holding onto me like there’s no tomorrow. The feeling of that desperate, raw love filling up my heart hurts so much I feel like it’s suffocating me. I really need to release the splintering ache. Only for just a moment. 

I carefully look up and free one arm out of his hold. I softly caress his hair and then run leather-gloved fingers over his eyebrow and temple. Feather light touches over his cheekbone to his jaw. He doesn’t move, so I guess he’s really pretty out of it. 

“Sorry,” I whisper, and I softly brush my lips against his warm mouth. It’s just for a split second, and my skin doesn’t have the time to respond, but it’s enough to calm my erratic nerves for now. I feel a warm, tingling sensation where our lips have touched. 

I close my eyes and give myself a moment to cry silently over my stupid, theatrical behavior and then take a few steady breaths and smile. 

I’m his peace. 

He sure does look peaceful right now. I bury my face against his chest again and he responds by pulling me even closer. 

Memorizing this breathtaking, but also painful moment, I close my eyes and inhale his scent. 

Ugh. I love him way too much.


	13. Chapter 13

I lay awake most of the night for several reasons. First, Logan’s energy is providing me with some sort of adrenaline-rush, so I’m not tired anymore. Second, I’m a bit nervous about my skin and his claws for all the obvious reasons. Third, I’m not used to being held like this. I haven’t shared a bed since I grew out of crawling into bed with my parents after a bad dream. Right now, Logan has me so locked me in an embrace, I’m lucky he still lets me breathe. 

I’m realizing that I’ve been pretty occupied with my own misery these last few days. Somehow I’ve been totally oblivious to the feelings of the man I call my best friend. I doubt he’s had a full night’s sleep since we’ve been on the road. Every night he insisted on me taking the bed, and believe me, I’ve argued about it more than once but I couldn’t convince him to let me take the couch for the night.

Now that I think of it, I’ve never actually seen him asleep because he was always up and ready to go before I even considered opening my eyes. 

The night I told him about truck-creep, I’d asked him again to spend the night in the same bed with me, but again he hesitated. I asked him to just hold me until I’d fallen asleep, and just like that first night, he held me in his arms and caressed my back while I listened to the reassuring pounding of his heart. Our limbs tangling loosely together had felt so natural, I almost believed that we embodied the Chinese Yin-Yang symbol, but it was nothing compared to the closeness of his body now.

It was the night I suddenly realized it’s a lot easier to express feelings when you’re not facing someone. Feeling Logan’s protective arms around me, I’d confessed him that I wished for new skin, just like him. I wanted untouched, virginal skin. I was aware of the irony, I *have* untouchable skin after all, but I still felt tainted. In fact, I still do. I don’t know if that feeling ever goes away. 

Logan said that new skin wouldn’t do the trick. He was speaking from experience. So we just held on to each other, and I’m not entirely sure who needed whom the most. 

Just like now. Who is holding who? Just because I more or less disappear in his embrace doesn’t mean that I can’t comfort him, right? Is my presence really something he needs? Or am I just a warm body he’s using to ease the turmoil boiling somewhere deep inside? 

He could’ve gone along with Vivian. I bet he would have gotten lots of comfort in her arms. So why is he here? With me? I can’t give him what he really needs. I’ve seen the tension returning in his shoulders after the Professor’s phone call. It hasn’t really left since. Vivian can take care of it, even though it’ll be just for a short period of time. All I can do is hold him against my fully-clothed body with gloved hands. It’ll never be enough. 

And yet, he’s here. Telling me that I’m his peace. My emotions are so mixed up, I can’t think straight anymore. What am I supposed to think? Supposed to feel? Do I even have a choice?

For hours I go around in circles, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with satisfying answers. If I’d seen a flicker of lust in his usual mask of indifference there wouldn’t be so many doubts, but before tonight I’ve never experienced that smoldering look of desire he’s send Jean numerous times. 

Was tonight an exception? He’d behaved more possessively. Keeping me within arm’s length or pressed against him even. Why? He let go so easily when I wanted to dance with Kenneth, and then again, he stopped my hand from caressing his thigh, implying that it was affecting him. It doesn’t make sense. I can’t get my head around it. 

Oh, he’s moving. Keep the claws inside, sugar. If you want to impale me again, please use that one part of yours without the adamantium. 

I try to swallow down a giggle, but--whoa, he presses his knee between my legs and effortlessly shoves me half under him. Oompf, he’s heavy. And - oh my, is that what I think it is? 

Holy shit.

His words during our embarrassing moments-conversation pop up; ‘I don’t feel like going through an uncomfortable silent treatment after you’ve seen me waking up with a hard-on.’ 

Okay, I know I’ve promised not to dwell on it, but does that mean that I can freak out a little when I *feel* that particular hard-on pressed against my hip? 

I freeze. Now what? Move away? Ignore it? Rub against him? Oh no, that’s so *not* an option. I still feel guilty about stealing that little brush of a kiss earlier tonight. I’m not going lift my hips and press myself against him. I’m not doing that. No way.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

On second thought, I think I’ll stick with the claws. At least I know I can take those. 

He moves again and I can sense a change in heartbeat and breathing. He’s waking up. Shit shit shit. 

“Hey,” a low, hoarse voice mumbles in my hair. 

Keeping my tone casual, I answer, “Morning, sugar.” 

“You okay?”

“Good as new, thank you very much. How about you?”

“Pinched off,” he grunts while he moves back a little to take his weight off of me. 

I can’t help but grin. “So I’ve noticed.”

“Sorry.”

“Pff,” I shrug like I’m a woman of the world, “it’s nothing.”

He chuckles. “Ouch, there goes my ego.”

Crap. Now he’s making me blush. “You know what I mean.”

“Hmm,” is all he answers.

Trying to change the subject, I ask, “Shouldn’t you get out of those damp clothes?”

The moment I blurt out those words, I know it’s a mistake. Logan lifts his head so he can look at me with one eye still closed. A boyish grin flashes across his face. 

“What *is* that with you women? Always trying to get me naked.”

I know this game. 

“What do you expect? You have the body of a Greek God.”

“Oh,” theatrically whines while nuzzling my hair again. “And I just want respect for my intellect.”

It works every time. When he’s like this, I simply have to adore him. He can be so damn charming when he wants to.

“Face it, bub. You’re doomed to spend your life embodying every hot-blooded woman’s fantasy.”

He murmurs, “The terror.”

Giggling, I briefly kiss his jaw where it’s safe before squirming my way out of his reach. 

“Come on, ditch the smelly clothes. I’ll get our bags, and when I return, I want you naked, understood?”

“Fine.” He sighs before muttering, “Bossy woman.”

* * *

Closing the cabin’s door behind me, I’m greeted by a fluffy, white landscape. With the remainder of Logan’s senses lingering, I deeply inhale the fresh cold air and listen to nature’s deadened existence. Beautiful. No wonder Logan likes to be outdoors that so much. 

Our footprints have vanished completely because it’s still snowing. I close my eyes and face the sky, trying to feel every tiny, individual, cold flake melting on my skin. It makes me smile. Too bad I have to ruin the pure snow with my presence, but knowing the virginal surface won’t last long anyway, I trudge my way to the truck to get our bags.

* * *

When I return to our cabin, I see that Logan has indeed followed my orders. His clothes in a messy heap on the floor, he’s now covered by a sheet, lying on his stomach. I can’t see his face and he doesn’t move when I put down his duffel bag, so I whisper, “Are you awake?”

“Barely,” is the answer.

I’m a bit worried. He should be fine by now, right?

“Are you okay? I mean, really?” 

“Just tired, kid. I’m fine. Do what you have to do and don’t mind me.”

Don’t mind him. Ha! I have to restrain the urge to sit down next to him and caress his unruly hair. Not to mention that his bare back and magnificent shoulders are mighty fine eye catchers as well. What? Does he think I’m made of stone or something? Or rather, does he even think about what he’s doing to me in general?

Too bad I didn’t get much of him when he touched me. Not even enough to make out thoughts. The powers he gave me are almost gone too. It was nothing compared to our earlier touches. I shouldn’t even feel guilty about draining him. Besides, it was his choice, wasn’t it? He choose to prioritize his healing while he knew he’d downed enough to put a herd of elephants into a coma. It’s really sweet of him, but I bet he’s sorry now. 

Oh, well. I'm going to take a shower and just ignore the very naked man in that bed for both our sakes then.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things will go downhill after this part. Be warned.

For the second time this morning I slip out of the cabin. I don’t know if Logan is asleep or just being lazy, but I need to get out and take my mind, as well as my eyes, off of him. Distance is all I need to regain my sense of reality, and lusting after my white knight without his armor is so not an option right now. 

I’m not the only one taking a walk. Vivian is crossing the parking lot, dressed in jeans, boots and a ski jacket. Her dark curls are back in a ponytail, and from where I’m standing, I think she’s free of make-up. 

She sees me and waves. I wave back, wondering how she’s feeling after just a few hours of sleep. Guess I can ask her since she’s walking up to me.

“Hey honey, how’re feeling?” she calls before I can, stomping through the snow.

I still don’t know what to think of her. She really seems nice, but she’s also sleeping with Logan. Well, not recently, but still. It’s downright evil to face one of his women when all I get is a pat on the head. I have to steal a brush of a kiss when he’s barely alive. Life is so fucking unfair. 

“I’m fine, thanks to a certain healing factor,” I tell her, because she knows about our mutations and how Logan can heal me. I want her to know that he’s touched me skin to skin. I know it’s childish, but I can’t help it. She doesn’t seem surprised though, just worried. 

“Oh dear, is he alright?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little guilty about maybe implying something that puts him in an awkward position. “So… uhm… how’re you?”

“Dead.” She laughs. “But the show must go on. We’re going to clean up the bar for tonight. Want to come in? I’ll make us breakfast.”

Well, I *am* hungry. 

“Sure,” I take her up on her offer. 

Without the make-up she’s prettier. No, that’s not the right word. She’s classier. A natural beauty. But that also might have something to do with the fact that she’s wearing clothes instead of parading around half-naked. 

Helaku also looks different in broad daylight, but I think I like this so-called ‘Sunny Day’ better in the dark. 

Vivian disappears into the kitchen after telling me I can put on the music if I want to, but it’s weird to be alone in here. I feel like tiptoeing my way around. Maybe some music will chase away the very present silence. 

I look through the CD’s and choose something relaxed. No remix-stuff at seven-thirty in the morning. I can’t take it. 

I quickly go back to the other side of the bar and walk around the empty place. It sure is a mess in here. Maybe they’ll appreciate it if I help clean up a bit. 

“Good morning Dyani!”

Smiling at the familiar voice, I turn around. Tyee walks in, brushing the snow off his jacket. 

“Hey, morning.” 

“Where’s Dakota? He’s not hung-over, is he?”

I grin. “I’m afraid so. He gave me his healing, risking alcohol poisoning himself.”

“Ah,” Tyee smiles. “My friend’s been playing hero again. You have him wrapped around your little finger, mark my words.”

Suddenly feeling insecure, I’m aware that I’m scuffing the tip of my Doc’s on the wooden floor. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Tyee’s silence is making me look up. 

He’s watching me with twinkling, curious eyes. 

“What?” I snap, a little too bitchy. Can’t help it, though. I’m really uncomfortable about all this. 

“Nothing,” he replies smirking and taps a booth close to the bar, indicating to sit down.

I don’t like it when people hold back something. He looks like he knows a little secret and enjoys keeping it to himself. Well, fuck it. It’s way too early to make a fuss all this. Can’t I just be back at the Mansion? Life seemed so much easier there. No stress before nine, no sexy men nuzzling my hair, and no very impressive hard-on’s pressed against my hip. Still, I grudgingly sit down, take off my cloak, and wait for Tyee to start talking. 

Vivian takes that moment to swirl her way back in, holding two plates of pancakes, waffles and syrup. 

“Morning, Chief. How’s the head?”

Tyee grins. “Fine, sweetie. Yours?”

She serves the plates professionally. “I’ve had better days, but it was worth it.”

“You can say that again. It’s been too long.”

“How long?” I ask.

Tyee cocks his head thoughtfully. “Oh, about a year and a half, I think.”

Vivian nods, hands on her hips. “Yeah, that’s about right.” Then she asks me, “Coffee, juice, or both?”

“Both, please. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Of course not.” She cheerfully smiles and disappears in the kitchen again. She looks good, even in that blue sweater. Just like Jean looks drop dead gorgeous in just about anything. As a matter of fact, she looks a bit like Jean now that she’s all natural. 

Great. Just fucking great.

“What are you frowning about, Dyani?”

Ugh. Tyee is watching me again. 

“Nothing. Why do you call Logan ‘Dakota’?” 

“‘Dakota’ means ‘friend’. I think it suits him.”

“Yeah. I think so too.”

“You love him.”

Shocked by his blunt statement I look up. He’s not making fun of me. His eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine. I don’t want to talk about this to a complete stranger, but I hear myself saying, “Yeah.”

Again, Vivian comes in and serves our drinks and Tyee’s breakfast before collapsing next to him.

“What did I miss?” she asks before taking a bite.

“She loves Dakota,” Tyee tells her calmly.

What the fuck? 

“I know,” Vivian responds.

Okay, I definitely don’t like this. In fact, I’m starting to feel really annoyed about this whole situation. I sit up straight and point my knife to Vivian. 

“Oh, you do? Then why weren’t you a bit more subtle about your intentions last night? I have *eyes*, you know.”

Tyee isn’t affected by my verbal attack. Vivian isn’t either, it seems. Both continue eating their breakfast like everything is fucking peace and quiet around here. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” she simply answers after swallowing her bite. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. I mean, he’s God’s gift to women.”

Her straight answer wasn’t something I expected. Tyee rolls his eyes but smiles, and to be honest, I can’t hold back a smile either. I’m such a sucker for honest people. 

“He is, isn’t he?” I actually find myself grinning back at her.

“Oh, please, can I vomit?” Tyee moans humorously, and that only makes me grin more. 

Not looking up from her plate, Vivian suddenly declares, “He loves you back.”

Huh?

She sees my surprise and smiles reassuringly. “He just doesn’t want to admit it, yet. Give him time.”

Am I really having this conversation with one of Logan’s circuit-fucks?

“How do you know?” I ask, more out of curiosity than seeking confirmation. 

Tyee gets up and says, “I’m in the back, ladies.” And he retreats respectfully. 

“I know him,” Vivian says. “Well, as far as he wants me to know him, of course. The way he looks at you, acts around you - I’ve never seen him so…,” she searches for the right word while she waves her fork in the air, “so… vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?”

“Yeah.” She carefully places her cutlery next to her plate, folds her hands together and looks me straight in the eyes with a worried expression. “Please be responsible with his heart. I’d hate to see him hurt.”

I shake my head. “No, you’ve got it all wrong. He loves me, yeah, but we’re just friends. You know, I’m someone he protects. Like… like a big brother or something.”

Vivian laughs. “Honey, the man thinks you’re jailbait. His thoughts are no where near brotherly, trust me on this.”

I don’t think I can. In fact, I think I’m done here. I want to go home, lock myself in my room, curl up under a blanket, and get Logan out of my system. Someone telling me that he loves me is *not* my way of dealing with reality here.

“You’re wrong,” I tell her again. “Besides, I’m eighteen. He can do whatever he wants with me. Well, so to speak, of course.” I feel my cheeks redden. 

Wonderful. Just what I needed. 

“Fine.” She shrugs. “Believe what you want. Just know that I don’t want to see him hurt.”

We both continue our breakfast, but I can’t stop repeating this conversation in the back of my mind. I feel hope growing inside of me. 

No, damnit, I’m not giving in to this. I can’t let an unanswered love hold me down. Because that’s what it’s going to be: unanswered. I need to brace my heart for reality, not let hope drop down my guard.

Suddenly a thought strikes me - if I touch her, I’ll have a woman’s memory of what it’s like to make love to Logan.

Oh, no. That’s so wrong. That’s everything Xavier despises. And frankly, I despise it myself too. I’m *not* going to use my skin against someone innocent for my own pleasure. She could die, for God’s sake. Bad idea. Very bad idea. If want to know what Logan’s like in bed, there are other ways. Like, asking. She’s been honest before, right? 

I look over my shoulder but Tyee is nowhere to be seen. 

Okay, I’ll ask. The worst she can do is tell me to mind my own business.

“So… what’s it like to make love to him?” I ask her quietly. 

Ugh. I feel like such a twit, but if my question surprises her, she doesn’t show. I, however, feel a warmth sneaking up from my toes to the tip of my head. 

“I’ve had sex with him,” she says between bites. “Love didn’t have anything to do with it.”

I stare at her with my fork halfway in the air and try to make my brain work again. I certainly didn’t expect that answer. She didn’t even sound bitter. 

“Oh. Okay. So what *that* like?” I ask while I try to concentrate on swallowing down childish giggles. I’m actually having a woman to woman-talk here. How very Sex and the City. 

“Hmm.” She frowns. “It’s… good, I guess. He’s… he’s not selfish. He knows what a woman wants, what we need, but he’s not tender. Passionate, yeah, to some extent. Sometimes a bit rough, but he’s never hurt me. That may seem like a good thing, but it also means he’s always controlled. That’s something *not* very good for a girl’s self-esteem.”

“Why not?” I ask, totally fascinated by her words. 

“Well, we all want a man to lose himself in passion when he’s in our bed, right? It’s the ultimate power of a woman. We want to draw out the animal, intoxicate him, drown him in ecstasy. It doesn’t work with Logan though. Even during an orgasm he’s restrained, I can tell. He doesn’t allow himself to let go completely, and believe me, honey, I’ve tried.”

I rethink her words. What should I make of this? It matches what he’s told me in the truck. He’s always careful, always on the lookout. Doesn’t he ever let go of that control? Not even when he’s intimate with someone who obviously cares for him? If a woman like Vivian can’t send him over the edge, I sure as hell can’t either. Also, I’ve never heard the word ‘love’ in all this. 

“So… it’s just sex?” I ask, and she nods. 

“Yeah. It’s just sex. *Good* sex. Don’t get me wrong. *Really* good sex, but it’s not that mind-blowing for him as it is for me, unfortunately.”

I really like her. Telling me in all honesty that she can’t satisfy Logan the way she wants to touches me. It really does. 

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling a bit silly.

I mean, am I? I should be happy that she can’t please him like that, right? But somehow I recognize her frustration. I can’t give it to him either. 

“Don’t be,” she says cheerily and winks. “He’s all yours, honey. Just give him time.”

I roll my eyes but I can’t hide my smile. 

Right. Dream on.


	15. Chapter 15

Do you know how we women always complain about men not paying attention to our feelings? Moaning that he should pick up the little hints and signals we’re strategically broadcasting which are so obvious to our own gender, but go by totally unnoticed by the species they say comes from Mars? 

Be careful what you wish for.

Right now, I am sharing the small cabin of a pick up truck with a man who has enhanced senses, and let me give you a piece of advice for free: stick with your ordinary, almost senseless guy out there.

The last five hours I’ve been trying to keep my distance and become levelheaded again about my stupid crush, but it’s kind of hard when you’re on a road trip with the object of your desire, and Logan has asked at least once every hour if I was okay. 

Damn him and damn those senses. 

Of course I told him I was fine. ‘I was just a little tired.’ That made him feel guilty and he apologized for keeping me awake last night. Now that made *me* feel guilty, because the truth is, I liked every minute of him hugging the life out of me. 

So, we ended up both feeling guilty about the wrong things, and he’s been trying to make up by trying to make me talk. All he gets is a grunt here and there though, and I even managed to growl at him at some point, which made him mutter that he’s the one to blame for my new vocabulary because if his touch. Ugh.

It makes me think about how many little lies we tell men in general. We verbally try to squirm our way out of more than we think. And certainly more than *they* think. The reason why we get away with it most of the time is not because we’re good at manipulating, it’s because men simply believe that we’re either too innocent (Scott) or too stupid (Remy) to mislead them. Logan, however, isn’t buying any of my shit that easily and keeps on trying. 

“Okay, that’s it,” he suddenly says. “You’re not okay. Did I do something wrong?” 

There you have it. Every woman’s dream sentence asked by every woman’s dream guy. Why am I not jumping with joy here? 

“No, Logan. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I’m fine.” 

I sigh. This isn’t going anywhere. Time to throw in girly-stuff. 

“I’ve started my period today. You were right about the date, and now I’m just not feeling very well.”

Technically it isn’t even a lie. I *did* start my period today, but I’m not having cramps or anything. Truth is, physically I feel on top of the world. 

Logan is scanning me. 

Fine. Go ahead, sugar. I am *not* going to tell you that I’m madly in love with you again and can’t look into those beautiful, golden eyes without swooning. You’ll have to torture me before I’ll confess that. 

Heh. Somehow that makes me think about me in a bed, hands tied above my head, and Logan tearing my shirt and - whoa! Stop, damnit. I’m *not* going there when he’s sitting right next to me. Jesus. 

I seriously think that I’m sexually frustrated. I mean, I am eighteen, and so far I’ve met some dreep-freak in a truck and a Cajun who thought he was too sexy to be shared with one woman only. Sure, he was very good with his hands and he didn’t ask for much in return, but that’s only because the guy almost came just from looking at himself. Oh, and I got one lousy kiss from a teenage boy who thought masturbating would damage his hearing. David was really cute but he sure wasn’t the smartest of them all.

Also, keep in mind that I’ve spent my precious free time with the most dazzling guys you can think of. Have you ever seen Logan, Scott and Remy working out in the gym? Oh, and what about Pete? It’s enough to make the entire female population of the Mansion fall into a puddle of drool, not to mention other body fluids. All that perfect masculine flesh right before our eyes and all I ever got was a chaste kiss on the head or a ruffle through my hair. If I was lucky, I’d got a tackle during combat class. Yay me.

But at least Logan isn’t watching me anymore. I guess he bought my explanation for being quiet today. Good. That means I got that taken care of for another hour or so. With a little luck we’ll be at Alkali Lake by then and I can flee into the bathroom, pretending to take a nice hot shower.

My mind wonders back to this morning. 

After breakfast and my very captivating talk with Vivian, I’ve helped cleaning up the mess from the night before. Logan didn’t show up until about eleven, and after shoving down a shit-load of pancakes, he gruffly told me to get my stuff so we could be at our destination before dark. 

It was kind of odd to leave just like that, but both Tyee and Vivian seemed used to Logan’s behavior. They just hugged us and told us to visit them on our way back again. Hugged *us*. As in *both* of us. That sure surprised me. They knew about my skin but they weren’t freaking out or anything. That felt really good. It felt normal. I could use more normal things in my life. 

I do think Vivian was holding Logan a bit too long though. And she’d pressed herself against him a little too close, but then she smiled mischievously and gave me a wink and I knew she was teasing me. I stuck out my tongue and grinned. She could hug him all she wanted, he was going to be with me for quite a while. Hah! Still, they were nice. I hope we’re dropping by on our way back. I have to be sure we’re doing the tequila-stuff again. I don’t want Logan to end up her bed, obviously. 

Oh, I think we’re almost there, I think. I’m dying to find out what’s waiting out there for Logan. I sure hope it’s something pleasant. He’s been through enough shit already. He deserves to know something nice about himself. I guess tomorrow is going to be the big day.

* * *

“Hey sugar, what are you watching?” I ask after spending too much time hiding in the bathroom. I had to come out eventually, and I find Logan stretched out on one of the beds, leaning against the headboard. We got ourselves a room with two separate beds so he can get a decent night sleep too. Like I said, big day tomorrow.

“CNN.”

Ugh, boring. I hate the news. I know I should follow all the mutant registration-shit and all, but having Erik in my head taught me that even though that law would make it, I’d never turn in and tell those government-assholes about my mutation. It’s like wearing those big, yellow stars the Jews had to wear in World War II. I know what happened to them, thanks to the Erik in my head. Nope, I’ll never turn in.

I sit down on the other bed and try to watch the news anyway. Staring at Logan isn’t an option. 

While I put on my socks, I wiggle my toes again and watch Jubes’ polish work. It’s still a funny sight, all those colors. What would Jubes do on a night like this? Probably jump Logan. Not that it’s a bad idea or anything, but she’s not the one with deadly skin and a traumatized heart. She’d probably make him see fireworks. Literally. 

See? I still haven’t lost my sense of humor. That’s proof I’m handling my problems quite well. I can’t hide inside myself forever. Logan has given up trying to talk to me and now I feel bad about it. He could use my support because I know he’s worried about tomorrow. I have to put aside my own silliness and try to behave normally. 

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you register after the mutant registration law makes it?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

He doesn’t ask, but I tell him anyway why I wouldn’t register. He seems to listen, and after I’m all done rambling, he grunts almost unwillingly, “Magneto’s a real fucked up asshole but he sure knows his shit.” 

“Yeah. At least we could pass for normal humans, right? I’ll dye my hair and they’ll probably think you’re a failed Elvis impersonator.”

He frowns. “A what?”

I knew that would get his attention.

“A failed Elvis impersonator. You know, with the muttonchops and the buckle and all.”

He scowls at me. “You tellin’ me I look like Elvis in his fat, sweaty, pansy ass, white suit-period?”

Oh, my God, he’s really taking this seriously. I can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah, sort of.”

Trying to hold his badass-face, he grunts, “You know, kid, you got balls.” 

“I know.”

“I’ve kicked ass for less.”

“I know that too.”

He glares at me but I merely grin back, and after a few seconds, I see a glimpse of a smile appear. It’s been a while since I saw him like that thanks to my own childish behavior. It looks so much better on him.

“So, how are you going to make me pay?” I ask, batting my lashes and trying to look all innocent. 

Oops, there I go. I instantly fall back in flirting-mode when I let down those protective shields.

“I think putting up with me is punishment enough,” he answers, sinking deeper into the pillows of his bed. 

Hey, this isn’t going the way I wanted. Now he’s all serious again. Crap, don’t want that. 

“I’m more trouble than you, going through a very emotional PMS-week. Move over, grumpy old man.”

I jump on his bed, almost landing on his stomach, but he catches me just in time and I’m glad it’s cold outside because that means I’m dressed in flannel jammies and socks. No skin-worries tonight if he decides to use me as his cuddly doll again. I got it all covered, pun intended.

He scoots aside, a faint lopsided grin settling on that handsome face of his. I nestle myself next to him, my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. He doesn’t really return my semi-hug, but he seems fine by me draping myself half over him. 

Um… how did I end up here within a blink of an eye? I was determined not to do this. 

“Do you mind me crawling all over you?” I ask in my sweetest voice. 

“No.”

“If it does, I want you to tell me,”

“It’s okay, kid.”

You see, I know Logan. There’s something wrong. If he was his own charming self, he’d say, “I’m used to women crawling all over me, darlin’” or some crappy line like that. Now, he’s all distracted. 

“Nervous?”

He shrugs reluctantly. 

Okay, I get it. This isn’t going anywhere. I lift my head and try to capture his eyes with mine. 

Scowling, he avoids them. 

“Logan, look at me.”

Still halfhearted, he looks at me for just a second. It’s enough though. With a sudden bravery, I caress his dark hair and his cheek where it’s safe. He lets me, but he continues scowling and staring at the TV.

“I want you to listen to me,” I say, sounding quite calm even to my own ears. “No matter what you find tomorrow, good or bad, I want you to know that I love you. I really, *really* love you, and I’ll be your friend, always.”

He looks a little stunned by my blunt declaration of love and friendship, but I couldn’t care less. It’s the truth and somehow I don’t even feel weird about it. His doesn’t even hide his confusion when his eyes seek mine, but then his expression changes and he sadly looks away again. 

“Marie--”

“Hush,” I tell him. “I don’t expect you to say anything. I just want you to know.”

I lay my head on his shoulder again, my hand back on his chest, and I try to feel his soothing heartbeat. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I honestly think his heart’s pounding a little faster than I’m used to. 

Did my words affect him this much? And why did he look so miserable? I didn’t mean to hurt him. Did I do something wrong?

He doesn’t say anything, but he takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around me to hug me back. While snuggling closer, I feel the heartbeat under my hand slowing down to its regular, calm rhythm again. 

I guess, maybe I didn’t do such a bad job after all.

* * *

“Noooo!”

I wake up from a scream. Logan’s scream. We both sit up straight in our separate beds. I’d fallen asleep in his arms, but apparently he left and took the other bed eventually. I try to stay still until he’s calmed down a little. It must be one of the nightmares.

“Shit,” he whispers, panting. “You alright?”

Oh good, now I can breathe again. 

“Yeah. You?”

“Fucking nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Yeah, figured that. Still, had to ask, right? I slip out of my warm bed and get him a glass of water. His body is covered by a thin film of sweat, and in the pale moonlight, I see him shivering. 

“Here.” 

He takes a few sips, closes his eyes, and runs a hand through his already messed up hair. 

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, kid. I want you to stay here tomorrow.”

“It’s just a nightmare. You’ve had them before.”

“No.” He puts the glass on the nightstand and gets up. Scowling, he starts pacing across the room. “I’m serious. I want you to stay here. If I’m not back by noon, you pack your stuff and get the hell out of here.”

He’s scared. Really scared. I’ll be damned. Is he serious?

It’s the first time he’s woken up like this since we’ve been on the road. I know he still regularly dreams about the lab because my room is next to his and I can hear him clearly through the thin walls, but I’ve never seen him this upset while he’s awake. 

“We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?” I try to soothe him. “Let’s just get back to bed and get a good night’s sleep before we decide anything.” 

I walk over to my bed but Logan grabs my arm and pulls me into a tight hug. His bare chest almost touches my face but he doesn’t even notice. I wriggle a sleeve-covered hand between our bare skins while my other hand ends up on his sweatpants’ covered hip. He really should be more careful.

“Promise me, Marie. Promise you’ll run and call Xavier when I don’t come back.”

My God, he’s shaking. 

“Alright, sugar. I promise. Okay? I promise.”

“Good.” He kisses me on the top of my head. “Now you hop back in. I’ll take a shower.”


	16. Chapter 16

Something has gone horribly wrong, I am sure of it. 

Logan left this morning, still convinced that I had to stay put. He made me promise again that I'd head back to the Professor if he wasn't back by noon, but now I’m pacing back and forth just like he did last night and watch the clock. It's past one already and no sight of him yet. 

"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter to myself. "Where are you, damnit?"

Did he really think I'd just leave without him? Ha! He obviously doesn't know me. There are bears out there, right? Or… wolves, maybe? What if they’ve attacked him? What if he's hurt? I can't leave him. I'll just wait until two o'clock and then I'll call Jubes.

* * *

"Jubes?"

"Hey, Roguey! How's it hanging, girl? You and Wolvie having a good time?"

"I don’t know really. Listen, this is important, okay?"

I tell her where we are and everything about Logan's nightmare, his feelings about it and about my promise. 

“Maybe he bailed out on you?” she offers so very helpfully, but I snort.

"He'd never do that."

"Look girl, he's no psychic. He had a nightmare. It wasn't a vision or anything. I'm sure he just fell asleep somewhere under a tree or whatever. Or… or he's nailing some ho' he's picked up. Who knows. Don't you worry."

I roll my eyes. 

"It's fucking freezing out here, stupid. I'm scared he's wounded or something."

"Oh. Well, maybe you should rescue him before he freezes his nuts off, heheh. But hey, don't they just grow back with the healing stuff and all?"

Great. Just great. I'm totally freaking here and she's talking about his balls.

"Thanks. You're probably right. No need to worry. I'll just wait here, and when he gets back, we'll head to Anchorage."

"Good. Lighten up and have fun, okay? You're on a road trip with a hot as hell sex-god. We all so envy you, chica!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Bye Jubes."

Damnit. This isn't right. I'm going to look for him.

* * *

By the time I reach the compound, it’s late afternoon already. Logan has been here. I’ve found his rental car in the valley and so I’ve parked the truck next to it. His footprints were still visible in the snow and I’ve walked up the passage to where I am now. I’m about to open the gate when I hear a click that somehow sends icy shivers up my spine. I instantly know I'm held under a gun. 

Three guns, to be specific, because when I turn around, three men dressed in military uniforms are all pointing their weapons at me. What the fuck?!

It was supposed to be a simple lead. There might be clues of a former military operation in an abandoned compound. Logan had told me everything he knew. It was provided by a reliable ally of the Professor's underground network, combined with what the Professor had found in Logan's complex mind. All information from Xavier is normally highly accurate, but somehow a minor detail was left out this time - the compound clearly isn't abandoned. 

"Out for a walk, missy?" one guy says. "Kind of chilly, isn't it?"

I don't think I can speak. I just stare at them, trying to swallow the lump in my throat and also trying to suppress my fear. Not only for myself, but for Logan as well. 

"Who are you?" I finally manage to ask. Not that I'm expecting them to answer, but maybe they’re up for a chat while I can come up with a clever escape plan and high tail my ass out of there. I need to buy time.

"We're your new best friends." Another guy grins and pulls the trigger. 

Some much for my great escape.

* * *

My leg hurts and my arms are so heavy. I just want to sleep. Can't open my eyes. I’m so tired.

Why is this bed so hard?

And why are there people shouting? Don't they know I'm trying to sleep here? Jesus. 

I'm thirsty and this bed sucks. Crappy hotel beds - wait a minute. What happened? My head feels funny. Where am I? 

I try to open my eyes and I see an angel. Or maybe more like an elf.

I'm dead? What the fuck? This isn't what I thought heaven would be.

"Hey," the angel says. 

"Who are you? Where am I?" I ask while I try to sit up straight, shielding my eyes from the light with my hand. 

"This is Mutant's Hell." She grimaces. 

I blink while I try to focus on the elf-like creature in front of me. 

"Mutant's Hell?" I repeat dumbly and gaze at her transparent looking skin. I can see her veins clearly, and just like elves or faeries, she's got pointy ears but hers have been pierced several times. Her eyes are fascinating too. Green, like two sparkling emeralds, while her hair is short and black, a very cute pixie cut.

She must be in her mid-twenties, now that I look closer. Awfully skinny too, dressed in totally black. Hey, she's wearing Doc's too. Good taste, but what's with the weird looking metal collar around her neck? 

Miss Dark Tinker Bell looks at me just like I've been staring at her, but then I look around and get even more confused. 

“What is this place? Am I in a cell? Who's that guy shouting in the hallway?”

"We're guinea pigs in a laboratory,” she explains calmly. “It’s basically the same as hell, I suppose. I'm not really sure. Never been in hell before."

I try to stand up straight on wobbly legs, but at least they work. 

Well, great. I really *am* in a cell. Three concrete walls. Steel bars facing a passageway. No windows. It must be some sort of underground bunker. It's cold in here. Cement floor, drain in the middle. For what? Blood? I’m suddenly wide awake. 

"This is still Alkali Lake, right?" I ask. "Did they drug me?"

"Yeah and yeah. They drug you all the time if you don't cooperate. I'm Sarah Faye, by the way, but *they* call me The Conductor."

"I'm Rogue," I tell her as I slowly look around. 

It's a ten-by-ten feet cell. There are wooden planks fastened by hinges and chains to the wall opposite of each other. No pillow, no mattress, but there are grey blankets. There’s a metal toilet next to one bed, a pump-out system, and a little metal sink next to the other. 

Is Logan here? Is he captured, too? I need to find him.

"I know your name," Sarah Faye says as she stands up too. She's taller than I am. "In fact, I know everything about you."

She does?

She must have seen my surprise, because she gestures towards one of the sleeping platform and says, "Sit down, please. We need to talk."

How many times do I need to hear that phrase in my life? Haven't I had enough serious talks lately? 

I examine the pockets of my cloak as I walk up to the plank. My cell phone - it's gone. Just like my keys, driver's license, and passport. They both had that stupid new name Jane Joëlle Logan. Have to remember that. Whoever captured me, my name is Jane. Oh, and even my goddamn tampons seem to have vanished. What? They thought I'd escape using a tampon or something? Since when do I look like fucking MacGyver? Jesus Christ.

When I sit down, Sarah Faye says, "They'll probably collar you.” She touches her own metal band. “It's not a fashion statement. It's a bomb. You'll be connected to a cell, maybe this one. If you manage to escape without shutting down the power--boom!" 

Jesus Christ. 

I swallow hard and look at the metal around her neck again. It suddenly looks a whole lot different now. Definitely more creepy. I'm going to walk around with a fucking bomb-collar around my neck? Is this even real? 

"How long have you been here?" I ask, still eyeing the creepy collar. 

"About three months. Listen, I don't know how much time we have, but I've touched you."

What?!

She holds up her hand and shuts me up before I can react.

"Don't worry. I'm not hurt. I've transferred your thoughts to them. It’s my mutation. I need a plus and a minus and transfer thoughts or feelings from one person to another, like a telepathic and emphatic conductor."

I'll be damned. That's a cool mutation. But… wait a minute, *my* thoughts? She transferred *my* thoughts? 

"To whom?" I hear myself asking. 

Is this really happening? 

"A guy we all call Colonel but his name is William Stryker. He has your friend Logan captured too."

I jump up. "Logan's here? Did you see him?"

"Yeah. I had to transfer his thoughts as well." 

I'm totally confused now. Transferring thoughts? So my pull didn't affect her? And where’s Logan? Why are we here? What *is* this place?

"Okay," I shake my head in an attempt to order my almost frantic mind. "So… you can transfer thoughts or feelings from one person to another. You've touched me but I can't feel you in my head, so that means my skin didn't affect you. And Logan's here, right?"

"Exactly." She nods.

"Okay. So why are we here? 

"I don't know for sure, but I think Stryker wants to turn your friend into a weapon or something. Use him for military purposes, like he does with all of us, one way or the other." 

Of course. That's what they intended the first time. Logan was right all along. They were still looking for him. Still looking for their precious weapon. Oh my God, this is the place from his nightmares. He's in danger. Real danger. And so am I.

"What more do you know?" I ask my cell mate. "We need to out of here."

Sarah Faye looks at me like I've lost my mind. She stands up again, casually stuffing her hands in the pockets of her black jeans. "Sorry to break it to you, babe, but there’s not getting out of here. We're trapped."

* * *

Even life in prison has a schedule, it seems. Inspection three times a day, a meal once a day, and the cells get cleaned once a week by a high pressure system and very cold water. It's supposed to be our weekly shower as well. Sarah Faye - or Faye, as I shortened it - told me everything she knew after I finally managed to calm myself. 

We get no extra blankets, no towels or soap, but we do get toilet paper once a week. Unfortunately, there is no other luxury of girly-stuff like tampons or pads or anything, and I frown at the thought of my current underwear. 

A yellow lace thong. Jubes insisted that I’d bring it. Crap, not exactly survival underwear. Logan once saw it when I was unpacking my stuff. Before I could snatch it away from him, he had it wrapped around his finger, warily arched an eyebrow at me and asked of it was my secret weapon in scaring off creepy dates. I can't say what was more humiliating - my thong dangling like a bright, yellow post-it from Logan's index finger, or the fact that he thought it was horrible enough to be considered as a warning sign not to touch me. 

So who knows, my underwear might bring me some luck anyway here in this prison. According to Logan it has 'Toxic' written all over it. Maybe the guards will leave me alone when they see it. 

Always look on the bright side of life, deedum, deedumdeedumdeedum.

"How are the guards?” I ask my cellmate. “I mean, do they… uh… do things?" 

Faye seems to think about it. "Not to me, but I don't really know how many others there are. The guards are freaked out by my skin even though I always need to touch two people before my mutation works. Guess that means no sandwiching for me." She grins mischievously. 

At first I don't really catch her joke, but when I do, I can't help but laugh. Her humor seems completely misplaced but somehow I think it's terribly funny. It reminds me of Jubes. And speaking of…

But suddenly I hear footsteps echoing though the concrete building. They're coming our way. I try to find a place to hide but there really isn't one. Faye looks guarded too, but she stands up straight, her fists clenched. 

"Well, well, well, we've got ourselves a new toy." A tall, blonde man in a military uniform is looking at me with cold eyes. A few other soldiers stand behind him, holding their guns and looking very threatening. 

"Who are you?" I ask, trying to hide my nervousness. It’s actually quite impressive. I didn't sound scared at all. 

"Your worst nightmare," the guy answers, smirking.

Okay. What's this? Did I end up in some B-movie or something? 

"Please, spare me the crappy clichés." 

Logan would've been so proud of me. 'Never show them that you're scared, kid,' he told me several times during personal combat lessons. Guess I'm doing a good job, because the guy's smirk is replaced by annoyance now. 

He's giving me a once over and I stick out my chin and grit my teeth. Asshole. He has *no* right to keep me locked up. No right to hold me here. This is *my* life, damnit. I'm sick and tired of frustrated men using me for their own good. 

"What's your name?" he barks. 

Name, rank and number, huh? I know this from the movies.

"My name is Jane, my rank is way out of your league and you can only dream of getting my number."

There, take that, you dickhead. Even Erik-in-my head is proud of me now, making his presence known even though he’s supposed to be locked up by the professor, and I'll be damned if I didn't hear Faye snort.

Military man is fuming though. He speaks calmly, but his tone is bloodcurdling. "I know what you are. You're just another mutie-whore. You're nothing. If you ever, *ever* talk to me like that, I'll cut you in half and make you eat your cunt."

Oh! The nerve! 

I clench my gloved fists and a rage that originated in my stomach spreads in burning waves through my veins, leaving me shaking with adrenaline. I don't think I've ever felt this angry in my entire life. Flames of fury are rising inside of me, and I don't really know if it's a Logan left-over or my own temper, but right at this moment, I feel like I can kill and actually enjoy it as well. 

With a voice that doesn’t really sound like mine, I snarl, “Just because your mother didn't love you enough doesn't mean you can take it out on me. Get a shrink."

It seems that he's taken aback by my lack of fear for just a few seconds, but then I see my own anger reflected in his eyes. He orders the other men, "Get her."

Fuck. I don't want that guy in my head. Or any of those fuckers for that matter. Maybe I should warn them.

"Don't touch me!" I shout and back away next to Faye. "My skin will hurt you!"

"Johnson, get the collar!" the blonde barks, and a soldier steps forward, holding a metal collar in one hand, his rifle in the other. Two other men open the barred door and both Faye and I back off until we reach the far opposite wall. 

"Get over here and put this on," the guy - I assume is Johnson - orders me, but call me stupid or arrogant, I'll never voluntarily collar myself like a dog. 

"Fuck you," I spit out. 

One of the soldiers by the door raises his gun and Faye gasps, ducking away under the wooden sleeping platform. 

I never even hear the shot before my world fades into blackness again.


	17. Chapter 17

After what seems like seconds, I open my eyes and find myself collared and strapped down on a steel operating table in a med lab similar to the one in Logan’s nightmares. Are they going to torture me? I don’t heal like he does. I’ll die here. Is this what fear feels like? Real fear? It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve felt when Erik held me captured. 

With Erik, I was scared out of my mind, lost and hopeless. Now, I’m mostly angry. Maybe that’s because of my X-Men training. Or maybe it’s because Logan’s told me a thousand times to treasure anger, bend it into willpower and strength if I ever ended up in a situation like this. Anger is a good emotion to build on. Anger will keep me alive if I am able to hold on to it. I know from both Logan’s and Erik’s memories that anger helps you to focus on revenge. 

A few men are watching me, their tranquilizer guns to fire. I can’t move, but even if I could, I can’t take the risk of getting drugged again. I need to find Logan.

Two men enter to lab while I stare at the shimmering silver scalpels, needle-like probes and other sinister looking surgical instruments next to me. One guy is an old guy, wearing a military uniform. The other looks younger and is covered by a surgical apron. I should be scared shitless but all I can think of is that these Homo Sapiens are repulsive and that they deserve no mercy when I finally get the chance to kill them. Those thoughts are definitely Erik’s two cents, but for once I agree with the old fart.

The older guy walks up to me, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses while he watches me intensely. He’s creepy. I think this must be Colonel William Stryker. He smirks, and I wonder what thoughts he’s got from me. I just hope he sees hate in my eyes now. I hate him for everything he did to Logan and for everything he’s going to do with me. 

Ororo once told me that the opposite emotion of love is indifference. Hate is merely an emotion based on the hurt of rejection by a loved one. I don’t care about all that psycho mumbo jumbo right now. I just know that I can sense hate in others and in myself in the blink of an eye. Another contribution of wisdom by Erik and Logan, and I am thankful for recognizing the pulsing hot fury in my heart. I’m going to hold on to it for dear life. 

“Wolverine has got himself a lovesick teenager on his tail,” he suddenly says, sounding quite smug. “Tell me, little one, do you really think you’d like to be fucked by an animal?”

Oh, how I’d like to wipe that smirk off his face. Damn Faye and damn her mutation. Now he knows about my feelings for Logan. That’s a disadvantage, possibly a big one. 

“Go to hell,” I hiss between clenched teeth. 

“Tsk tsk. Same attitude problem, I see.” 

He steps closer and I can smell his rotten breath as he brings his face near mine. It’s so gross I almost gag. 

“You know,” he continues on an oddly casual tone, “I’ll have Wolverine licking his guts off my boots in no time. If you don’t want to follow his example, my advice is to obey my orders and never talk to me like that again.”

Yadda yadda yadda. If Logan’s going to lick anything, it’ll be me and definitely not my boots. Ha! Okay, so I first have to control my mutation, but that’s just a minor detail. 

Stryker turns around (thank you, please ask Santa for a toothbrush this year), and barks to the man in the apron, “Get samples. I want her alive. At least for a while.”

Oh, fuck.

* * *

After they’d thrown me back into the cell, Faye told me that I’ve been away for about three hours. I’ve kicked one of the wooden sleeping platforms into splinters and screamed at the top of my lungs that I *hate* them with a passion I’d never felt before. Not that it has made an impression or anything, but I just had to release some of my gnawing temper or else I’d choke on resentment. My cell mate just looked at me, sadly shaking her head, but she didn’t try to calm me.

Is this really happening?

Am I trapped in one of Logan’s nightmare? If I scream loud enough, will he burst into my room and wake me? Because panic is chasing courage, and agony is replacing anger. My life is depending on the mercy of a mad man. Why didn’t I listen to Logan? His senses are never wrong. I deserve every bit what they’ve done to me for my own stupidity. Why didn’t I make a run for it and call Xavier when Logan didn’t get back on time?

Collapsed onto my knees, I’m trying to control my emotions. They made someone touch me. I warned them about my skin but they didn’t listen. They brought in another prisoner and put a gun to his head. Of course he did what they’d ordered. What choice did he have?

His name is Derek. Or was, maybe. I don’t know what happened to him after he fell down, convulsing. They’ve strapped him onto another table and left him there. 

He’s only a year older then I am, and he wants to be a pilot. I guess his mutation is pretty useful then. He has wonderful night vision. I’m sure I can see clearly in the dark now too, but that’s not very helpful in a place like this. The lights around here are so fucking bright in the cells, I almost need sunglasses.

Fuck, I hope he’s not dead. He’s been here for about a week. He was so scared. And so was I, to be honest. 

After they’d seen my powers, the man in the apron – he introduced himself as Dr. Graham, took skin-samples by scraping off tissue of my arm. It had hurt like a bitch. Still does. But at least it looked like he was using sterile instruments and I even got a band aid afterwards. I guess they don’t want the wounds to get infected. But anyway, it was nothing compared to what Logan had gone through when he’d been here before, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Or scream. So I gritted my teeth and held my breath until I almost passed out. Too bad I didn’t. I sure could’ve used some numbness again. So I guess in my cell I’ve screamed for Derek, Logan and myself. 

God knows what will happen to me now. 

Am I going to die here?

“I hate you,” I murmur to no one in particular. “I so fucking hate you.”

Faye quietly answers, “That makes two of us, babe.”

* * *

I can’t sleep. My arms hurt and I can’t stop thinking of Logan. The fact that I’ve kicked my plank into splinters isn’t helpful either. I have to admit that wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Now I have to lie on the cold, concrete floor. Ugh.

Faye is curled up on her own platform, her coat and blanket tightly wrapped around her. According to my cellmate, Logan was wounded when they brought him in. I didn’t expect otherwise, but still, it makes my chest tighten by the thought that he’s in pain. Is he healed yet? Is he trying to get out of here? Does he know that I’m here, too?

I’m trying to communicate with him telepathically, which is plain stupid. I only gained temporarily night vision, not mind-reading, but maybe he’ll feel my presence anyway. At least it comforts me to talk to him in my mind. How I wish I had Jean’s mutation. Or even better, the Professor’s. With Xavier’s powers I would’ve been out of here in a blink of an eye. 

Faye told me that thoughts or feelings lose a bit of their intensity as she transfers them, and in not so many words she has told me that she can filter them too. Stryker doesn’t know though. He also doesn’t know my real name and the fact that I get other mutants’ abilities after touching them. She’s kept that away from him. I bet he thinks my name is Jane, thanks to my passport.

I couldn’t describe my gratitude, but I think Faye understood anyway. She sadly smiled and told me she was sorry for transferring the rest of my thoughts. I told her not to worry about it. If I had the choice between being unethical or being dead, I know what I’d choose. We’ll deal with guilt the moment we get out of here. 

If we ever get out of here.

* * *

Three days in this shithole and no sign of Logan yet. No sign of anything, except total boredom and a change a band aid now and then by dr. Graham. Thank God for Faye, because I honestly start to think they’ll bore me to death. At least we can talk to each other, although we try to be as quiet as possible. We’re scared they’ll separate us. 

I know boredom is a thousand times better than being tortured, beaten of experimented on, but here in this cell I don’t get a chance of finding Logan. I feel anxious. If I keep pacing like this, I’ll wear out my path in the floor. Not that I care. If it was up to me, I'd tear down this whole goddamn place myself and enjoy every fucking minute of it. My anger is back again. I’m starting to like the feeling.

Faye watches me pacing back and forth. She told me that I’m making her nervous, but I can’t help it. I want to get out. I need to get out. The collar around my neck is choking me. I hate the bright lights. I hate the food. I hate this cell. I hate the entire world right now. 

Where are the X-Men? Where is Scott, ‘Ro and Jean? Don’t they know by now that we’re in trouble? Didn’t Jubes tell them? And I know they said not to check on us with Cerebro, but do they really have to be so damn decent and keep their promise? Shit, if I get out of here, I’ll demand them to search for me every day, just to make sure I’m safe and sound. 

I how even the simplest things are taken from me. Things I’ve taken for granted. I’m forced to use the metal toilet in a bright lit cell that I share with a total stranger. Sure, Faye and I know each other pretty well by now, but it’s still humiliating. We hold up a blanket for some privacy, but how much privacy do you get in a ten-by-ten feet cell?

I’m using toilet paper to protect my stupid yellow underwear during my period. We don’t have towels to dry ourselves after washing up with freezing cold water. The small meals (more like left-over crumbs), are starting to wear me out. The gnawing hunger is very present. It reminds me of my days on the streets and Logan’s beef jerky. 

I so crave M&M’s. Yesterday I watched my colorful painted toenails and they reminded me of my favorite candy. Ugh, I’m so far gone. Comparing toenails with M&M’s, Jesus. And I also didn’t know I needed caffeine this much. I’d kill for a cup of coffee or a coke. Only one lousy meal a day and water sure gives you an awful taste in your mouth. And don’t even get me started on my breath. It’s like I’ve been French-kissing Stryker. It’s so gross.

It’s all humanly disgraceful, but it feeds my anger so maybe it’s for the better. There are times that I feel lonely, or tired, or frightened, but then I try to recall images of Logan’s nightmares and add my own pain during the skin-scraping. It won’t take long before the rage bubbles up again. And sadly, feeling angry is one of the best emotions by now.


	18. Chapter 18

“Tell me more about you guys mocking Scott.”

My fairy cellmate looks at me with her glowing eyes filled with amusement. It seems so out of place in here.

“Geez, Faye, aren’t you tired of my stupid anecdotes by now?”

“No,” she shakes her head, grinning. “I love to hear those stories. I’m so glad to hear funny stuff after ages of staring at those dull, grey walls.”

Over the past few days Fay and I basically exchanged most of our lives. I know almost everything about her, and I’ve told her a lot about me even though she knew most of it already. Or, as she said it, she caught glimpses of it, and now she wants to know more.

I also sort of know how her mutation works. It took her four times to explain it all. Pff, physics never was my best class. During my exams I cheated and got myself a B, but what I make of it is this: she has to touch two people while she depressurizes one half of her body. The other half gets automatically over pressured and the pull from the depressurized part causes the thoughts or feelings to flow. She can control the intensity of the flow by inflating the resistance of her body. Very nifty if you ask me. 

Also, unlike me, she doesn’t have to see or feel the thoughts she transfers, but she can grab onto them if she wants to and peek along. Which, in Logan’s case, she regretted immensely. I understand she wants to talk about the things that happened to him, but I told her that he’s an extremely private person and I don’t like to discuss his thoughts. Not even with someone who knows them already. She understood though. She said his mind was total chaos. When she grabbed on to them, they were too fast, too intense, and too noisy. Apparently it gave Stryker a headache as well. 

Ha! That’ll teach him. 

She saw me several times in the visions though. Stryker must know that I’m in some way important to Logan. Those things are never a good thing in the movies, so I guess it’s a disadvantage now as well.

“Oh, come on.” She nudges my side while we sit next to each other on her plank, and I snap out of my depressing thoughts.

“Well, all right,” I give in. “This one is about Scott’s visor.”

**~ Flashback ~**

Why do I always end up stressing like crazy to get my homework done? I have to write an essay about ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’, but it sure would’ve been nice if I’d read the damn book first. Ugh, me and my crappy schedules. I’ll never make it on time. It’s one thirty in the morning already. Isn’t there a movie somewhere?

Looking around, my eyes finally rest on Logan’s bed. Jubes and Kitty really needed their sleep, and so now I’m doing my homework in his room. He’s working out in the Danger Room, so I’m surrounded by a nightly silence with absolutely nothing to distract me here, except for his bed. How I’d love to crawl under the blankets and hide my face in that pillow. I bet it smells like him, just like the flannel shirt I’m wearing. He threw it over a chair when he left for his workout, and I started to get a little cold. I know it’s kind of rude to just wear someone else’s clothes, but I simply couldn’t resist the temptation. I hope he’s okay with it.

He once gave me his leather jacket to wear. It was still warm. I almost swooned in ecstasy. 

“How’s the loving?”

Jesus, he startles me, bursting into his room like that, and whoa - he looks all sweaty and pumped up. Just the way I’d like him to see between my thighs.

Oh no. Not *those* fantasies again. I have a paper to write, for God’s sake. 

“Don’t know. I’m not there yet,” I answer, reluctantly turning my back to him and trying to find the paragraph I left off. 

“What? You didn’t read the book?” his voice comes from the bathroom.

“Nope, didn’t have time.”

Lady Chatterley’s Lover, hmm. Make that ‘Lady Rogue’s Logan’. Or… ‘Lady Rogue’s Sweaty, Naked, Hard, Panting Logan’. Yep, that’ll be a bestseller. 

“Jesus kid, you have lousy timing,” Logan points out, walking out of the bathroom, still fully clothed and not even close to panting. 

Bummer. Don’t think he’s hard either. Well, not *there* anyway. 

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t know,” I grumble, silently cursing my overactive fantasy. 

He leans next to me against the desk, and a faint lopsided grin enters his face when he pulls the book out of my hands. The bastard is up to something. I know that look. 

“What?” I ask suspiciously. 

“I’ll write it.”

“You?” Arching an eyebrow - practiced first in the mirror, I lean back in my chair. 

It’s not the first time he'd helped me with book reports, but he never wrote an entire paper for me. That hunky chunk of a muscular God sure knows his classics. I bet no one knows that hidden depth. No one but me. 

Eying him skeptically, I try to find out what trick he’s got up his sleeve this time. “What do you want from me in return?”

Leafing through my book, he says smirking, “Oh, I can think of plenty of things.”

Crap, he can be so irresistible. I’ll do anything he wants if he’s all flirty like that. And I do mean *anything*. To hell with self-respect.

Not being able to hold back a grin, I roll my eyes and ask, “Seriously, what?”

“Nothing, kid. You can use some sleep.”

“Oh no, bub. You need a partner in crime, don’t you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, wandering back to the bathroom again, carelessly throwing my book on the bed. “I’ll take a quick shower. Wait here, okay?” 

Planting my feet on the desk, I mutter quietly, “Actually, I was more thinking about joining you.”

“I heard that,” he replies from the bathroom. 

Oh, I just *hate* his senses sometimes. 

Pulling his shirt around me, I listen to the showering noises and try not to think of Logan in all of his naked glory just about six paces away from me. How I’d like to be his soap right now. Slippery and wet, sliding all over his body and - aaargh! Stop, damnit! Book report! Book report! Book report! 

Hmm. 

He didn’t lock the door. He didn’t even close it.

That’s not an invitation, is it?

Nah, that’s just Logan. 

God, I think I seriously need a *cold* shower. 

Alone. 

But about ten minutes, later we tiptoe our way through the hallway. Logan in front of me, looking like all GI Joe in his army pants and a black T-shirt. I got to watch him getting dressed, but I discretely turned away when he casually dropped the towel. I didn’t think I could handle it without drooling all over his shirt. 

I try to imitate his almost catlike, silent movements, but I suck because I’m nowhere near as graceful. I’ll never be a good ninja-spy.

We stop at Scott’s and Jean’s room at the end of the hall, and we both sink down against the wall while Logan looks around. 

“Okay, Private, here’s the chance to prove yourself useful,” he almost growls and I get all giddy. “Your mission is to obtain and disable device X and rendezvous at 0200 hours.”

“In other words, get the visor and tape the damn thing. Aye aye, Captain,” I whisper, trying to maintain my bad-ass scowl. 

He wryly arches an eyebrow at my confirmation and I giggle quietly. “Uh… I mean, Roger that, sir.”

“Good. As always, should you be caught or killed, I will disavow all knowledge. If anything goes wrong, I call abort and you’re on your own. Good luck.”

Grinning like an idiot because of the stupid Mission Impossible reference, I crouch to the door. I glance around one more time and quietly slip into my teachers’ private quarters. 

“Status?” I hear Logan whisper from the hallway as I try to adjust my sight to the dark.

“Entry gained. Zero residual presence, sir.” 

The Logan in my head is getting carried away a bit. I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but it sure sounds interesting. Jean and Scott are probably still downstairs. Maybe they’re doing the wild thing on the pool table again. Jubes once told me that she caught them there. Don’t know if she was imagining things again, but it sure would be a funny sight. 

“Any indication of the device yet?”

Oh yeah, I’m on a ‘mission’. “Negative.”

I don’t know if he’s doing this to test my abilities, or if he’s really having some careless fun, but I don’t care either way. I get to play spy with Logan, and he’s going to write my book report in return. That’s definitely a win-win.

I look around. 

Where is that damn visor Scott uses at night? I don’t want to open drawers and stuff. That’s too private. I mean, I don’t think I can ever look at Jean again if I find a jelly Big-Blacky hidden in her nightstand or something. And please, Toys-for-boys are just too icky when it comes to Scott.

Okay, let’s see – yep, it’s there on the side table, blinking in the pale moonlight. 

“Device X in clear sight, sir,” I whisper, grabbing the black tape Logan gave me. 

“Roger, Private. Disable.”

Feeling slightly guilty while I tape the ruby glasses, I mumble, “Why do I always have to do the dirty work?”

“’Cause you’re the rookie, kid,” Logan answers.

“Whatever,” I grunt, cursing his senses for the millionth time and putting back the visor. 

Just when I want to tell Logan that the mission is accomplished, he warns me, “Someone’s coming.”

Fuck, now what? I really don’t have any excuse for wandering around in private rooms in the middle of the night. Damn Logan and his practical jokes. I guess I should hide behind the door. That way I can slip out the moment I get a chance.

I hear Logan walking around in the hallway, deliberately making a noise so I can seek cover, and then I hear Jean’s soft voice. 

“You know you're not allowed to smoke that cigar in here.”

“Tell me, Jeannie,” Logan says, totally ignoring her reprimand, “have you ever considered playing 'Monica'?”

“Monica?” Jean asks. “Oh, I see. And I suppose you're playing the President then?”

“No darlin', I play the cigar.”

Ugh – he can be *such* a guy. 

“Oh Logan, what am I going to do with you?” Jean quietly laughs, obviously enjoying his little flirtation. 

“Try smoking me,” is the answer and I shake my head. 

Pig. 

To give Jean credit, she keeps her decency. “Thank you, but I quit smoking a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean you still crave for a good *blow*, now and then, does it?”

Damn you, Logan! Quit fooling around and get rid of her!

“You're incorrigible,” Jean says while I hear her footsteps retreating. 

I bet she forgot all about why she came up here in the first place. Poor woman. I’d be distracted too if Logan talked to me like that. Uh - scratch that. I’d probably be all over him, heh. 

“Old habits die hard,” I hear Logan mutter before he tells me that the coast’s clear.

I slip out of the room and find Logan leaning against the wall with a naughty smirk on his face. 

“Try *smoking* me?” I hiss as I walk up to him.

“What?” he asks innocently, “It’s called a diversion.”

“Wrong, bub,” I tell him, poking my finger in his chest. “It’s called shameless flirting.”

He shrugs and grabs my gloved hand. “Hey, it worked, right?”

“All’s fair in love and war, I bet.”

“That’s right, kid,” he grins and pulls me close to give me a noogie. 

“Ow!,” I groan, trying to duck away. “I’m so going kick your ass. You know I hate that!” 

He laughs and playfully pushes me away from him. “Shut up. Are you trying to wake the whole damn house?”

He easily avoids my rather thoughtless attack, and I laugh too while I chase him through the hallway, knowing I’ll never catch him if he doesn’t let himself get caught. But suddenly he stands still and snatches me out of the air just when I took a rather spectacular Matrix-like dive towards him, probably also saving a precious China vase from getting shattered. 

“Oompf!” 

The air is being squished out of my lungs, but he quickly pulls me with him into his room. “Cyke.” 

I immediately run to his desk and sit down in front of my laptop while he silently closes the door, jumps on his bed and takes my book. Within seconds we hear Scott’s footsteps and he opens the door to Logan’s room without knocking. 

“What did I tell you about--,” he starts, but then he sees me and he stops. “Oh. Hello, Rogue.”

I smile my most charming smile. “Hi, Scott.”

I call him ‘Mr. Summers’ in class, but he’s told me to call him ‘Scott’ when there are no other pupils around. If I didn’t know Logan, I’d be drooling all over Scott, I swear. He’s just so cute. I bet he’s a gentle lover. The one who caresses you for hours where Logan probably is the ‘Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am’ kind of guy. Not that it’s a bad thing, but hey, a little gentleness would be nice now and then. 

Scott looks from me to Logan and back to me again. I’d swear he’s narrowing his eyes behind the glasses in an attempt to read our body language. 

I give him my ‘I’m all innocence and purity’ act while Logan scowls and looks plain bored. The man should’ve been an actor. 

“It’s a two fifteen AM,” Scott declares, looking at me. “What are you doing here?”

Before I can come up with an answer, Logan holds up my book, a finger between the pages somewhere halfway and says mockingly, “Lessons in Loving.” 

Oh, that smug looking bastard. He’s so pushing Scott’s buttons. 

“I didn’t know Captain Caveman could read,” Scott replies coolly and I have to admit, he really does have guts. I mean, not many people dare to speak to Logan like that and get away with it alive. 

“Who said anything about reading?” Logan says, making me flush all shades of red. 

Scott grits his teeth and takes a step into the room. “Now look, you illiterate--”

“Mr. Summers,” I say before things get out of hand, “Logan is helping me with my book report for English Class, and I have to get it ready by tomorrow. So please, if you don’t mind?”

Scott regains his calm again and even manages to smile at me. “Of course, Rogue. Sorry, you must be tired.” He backs off, but hesitates in the doorway. “We just leave the door open, won’t we?”

“Sure, Scott.” I smile my sweetest smile and turn my attention back to my laptop. “So, Logan, where were we?”

“Simultaneous orgasms on the forest floor,” he bluntly answers, and I just about die of embarrassment. I don’t think I can ever look Scott straight in the eye again. Eh – well, you know what I mean. 

When I finally have the courage to look up, Scott is nowhere to be seen and Logan’s scowling, his earlier playfulness replaced by his surly self again. That just about does it.

“Okay, mister,” I snap while I stand up, my hands on my hip. “Next time you and Scott are fighting over who’s the alpha male in this house, I suggest you two go to the little boy’s room and compare.”

Oh fuck. 

The look on Logan’s face tells me that I just made a mistake. 

“You got yourself a winner, darlin’,” he proclaims arrogantly, smirking as he leans back against the headboard, arms folded behind his head.

Ugh, why don’t I just *think* before I blurt out these things? 

I cover my face with my hands. “Thank you for that most useful information.”

“Pleasure. Now, you go get some sleep. I'll write the report okay?”

Actually, I think I’m going to take cold shower now. 

**~ End of flashback ~**

“Oh, great!” Faye grins. “And did he actually write the paper?”

“Yep. Found my laptop on my desk the next morning,” I tell her, smiling from ear to ear. “All I had to do was print.”

“Was it any good?”

I chuckle. “The Professor gave me an A.”

“Wow!” Faye says admiringly. “What about the visor?”

“Oh yeah, well, apparently, Scott opened his eyes after changing his glasses for the visor and thought he’d gone blind. The poor man squealed like a pig according to Jubes, but you never can take her too seriously. She’s full of crap most of the time. I didn’t hear anything, though.”

I smile, thinking back to those good memories.

“Scott interrogated the entire school, except for Logan because no one takes him for a prankster, and since he provided me an alibi, we both got away with it. Scott still thinks Bobby and John were behind it all.”

Fay laughs out loud and says, “Fabulous! Damn, Logan seems like such a fun guy!”

That makes me laugh too. 

Logan a fun guy? Faye sure didn’t catch much of his thoughts. I don’t think anyone *ever* used those words to describe the usually silent, brooding man I call my best friend.


	19. Chapter 19

I’ve repeated my reunion with Logan over and over again in my mind, but I should’ve known Logan would be his unpredictable self and make up his own rules. 

Faye and I have moved into another cell today. Logan’s cell, to be specific. When the soldiers ordered us to take our stuff and come along, we didn’t know what to expect. While tossing each other worried glances, we marched through the hallways, knowing the tranquilizer guns were aimed at our backs and ready to fire if we tried anything stupid. The echoing sounds of the soldier’s boots sounded like we were followed by a whole army instead of the five guys checking out our backsides. Assholes. 

When we arrived at Block A, we walked all the way to the end and suddenly there was Logan. He was standing up straight in his cell, dressed in a military uniform just like the soldiers, but his was too tight around the shoulders, too baggy around the waist, and he was wearing a collar, just like us. Faye gasped in surprise, but I was shocked and totally missed the beginning of the conversation between him and Dwight, the tall blonde soldier who’s basically in charge when Stryker isn’t around. 

I just stood there, gawking at him with my mouth hanging open and feeling my heart twisting in my chest. He looked awful and magnificently fierce at the same time with his hands cuffed behind his back, his hair tangled and filthy, and dark shadows under his eyes. I don’t know what reaction I’d expected from him, but he completely ignored me and argued with Dwight, not looking the slightest bit intimidated.’

“You just made your biggest mistake,” he calmly said in a deep, almost growling voice, his penetrating gaze from under lowered eyebrows.

“Oh, really?” the blonde man sneered. “The way I see it, we finally got a solution to all of our problems. You got yourself a girlfriend - she takes care of your sorry ass from now on, and by keeping her alive, we finally got the ultimate tool to control you. Who would’ve thought, Wolverine tamed by an untouchable schoolgirl! Haha!”

I remember thinking that this was *not* good. This was what I feared from the moment I found out where I was. I am Logan’s weak spot. I’m not flattering myself; I know Logan’s thoughts. He genuinely cares for me. Not in the way I want him to, but enough to use it against him. He cares, and in the end, he’ll hate me for it. 

“You’re a dead man,” was all Logan said, but I knew his coolness was a façade. His blood must’ve been boiling in his veins, just like mine.

“What ever you say, tiger,” Dwight smirked. “Right now, we got you by the balls.” 

He turned around and jerked his head to one of the soldiers while another entered a code to open the cell. The rest raised their guns, but Logan’s threatening stare actually made them take a step back. When the door swung open, nobody moved for a moment. All the soldiers were totally focused on Logan, their fingers ready to pull the trigger by the slightest movement, and I saw the calculation on Logan’s face. He couldn’t take them all down without me getting hurt. Even I knew that. 

The soldier next to us pushed Faye and me into the cell, ordering me not to accidentally kill their precious toy with a touch. I landed on the floor, and here I am, dusting off my jeans while Faye’s tugging at my arm, trying to help me up. Logan’s still focused on the guards and doesn’t even cast a quick glance at us. When I hear the by now familiar click of the barred door, I stand up and turn around to see the guards march away again. 

“Shit,” Faye mutters, taking in the new surroundings and then focusing on me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I grunt, eyeing Logan and not exactly knowing what to do with the sudden gathering.

I feel quite stupid for thinking we’d fall into each other’s arms, relieved to see that the other is still alive. It seems way too idealistic all of a sudden.

When the footsteps of our captors are gone, I hear a silent buzz coming from the bars. What’s that? Did they electrically power them? They didn’t do that with our cell.

Just as I want to walk up the bars, Logan finally turns around. “Hey kid,” he says quite indifferently, but his eyes are watchful and roam over my body to see if I’m okay. It’s such a familiar gesture that I smile. 

“Hey sugar,” I return, desperately trying to keep my cool too, ignoring the urge to embrace him in a bear hug. 

He doesn’t look like he wants me to show any form of affection. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, almost like he’s uncomfortable with this situation. “You’re not supposed to be in *this* nightmare,” he says, avoiding my eyes. 

I know he’s referring to his dreams about the skewering incident in the Mansion. 

“Guess this isn’t a nightmare then,” I tell him. 

“Guess not.”

So many questions are tumbling inside my head. I want to know if he’s okay, but I can see that he’s not. I want to know what they’ve done to him, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about it. I want to know if he’s mad at me for not keeping my promise, but somehow the distance between us isn’t just physical and I don’t really know what to say. 

Awkwardly, we both keep silent for a while until Logan jerks his head towards Faye and asks, “Who’s she?”

I look at my cellmate again, now curled up on one of the platforms, watching us in confusion with eyebrows narrowed. Can’t blame her. This reunion isn’t going the way I’d expected either. 

“Sarah Faye. She’s one of us. We’re friends.”

Logan looks from Faye to me and asks, almost amused, “You’re captured by fucking scum and you’re making new friends?”

“Yeah. Southern manners, I guess,” I say, trying to think of a way to apologize for not listening to his order to contact Xavier if he wasn’t back on time. I really need to get this off my chest. “Aren’t you going to lecture me for coming after you?”

His eyes slide closed tiredly. “Rain check.”

“So… you’re not mad at me now?”

“I would’ve done the same,” he mumbles, staring at the concrete floor and shifting his weight back to the other foot. 

For the first time in almost a week, I feel warmth replacing the cold stone in my stomach. 

Faye sits up straight and rubs her hands together. “Okay, so now that we’re one happy family, maybe we should get a little practical. First, bathroom behavior. I desperately need to pee.”

Damnit, I didn’t think of that. Me too. Great, now we have to share this cell with Logan. I can’t pee with him around. I really can’t. 

The only man in the cell leans against one of the walls. They’re made of metal (is that adamantium?) and I can hear the clink of his cuffs. He arches an eyebrow at Faye and asks dryly, “Want me to leave?” 

Faye grins. “Nah, I get off on peeing in public.”

Logan’s features soften a little and a glimpse of a smile appears. I think Faye just passed her first test. He thinks she’s okay. For now. 

While my former cellmate walks up to the toilet and shamelessly unzips her jeans, I look at Logan. He’s cuffed. He can’t unzip or unbutton his pants. He’s going to need help. Our help. Oh, fuck. This is all way too intimate. 

Fiddling with my glove, I ask, “How about you? How do you… you know… use the toilet?”

Logan looks like he hasn’t really given it much thought. Casually, he shrugs one shoulder and says, “I traveled light these past few days. Made it a lot easier. This uniform is new for me.”

“Damn,” Faye blurts out from her sitting position. “You mean we missed out on the good stuff?”

Logan’s questioning eyes seek mine and I smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s always like that.”

“Great,” Logan mumbles. “Another loony.”

But loony or not, Fay knows how to lighten up my mood, just like Jubes always seems to know what I need. I feel better already. 

“Yeah. Anyway, now what?” I ask. “I mean, you need… you need any help? You know, from me? Or us?” I vaguely point to his pants and feel my cheeks redden. 

“Your choice, kid. I couldn’t care less,” he says, pulling up the baggy pants with his hands still behind his back. 

Those cuffs must be really uncomfortable. Maybe he'd like for me to massage his shoulders?

“Okay.” I nod and try to look like it’s nothing to stress over. “If you want, I’ll help you. You know, when you need to go. Or… maybe you prefer Faye. Whatever.”

Oh God, I’m making a total ass out of myself. Can I behave any dorkier than this?

Faye zips up her jeans. “Take you pick, handsome.”

Logan’s obviously annoyed by our childish behavior. He sighs and looks really tired. 

“When was the last time you slept?” I ask.

“I’ve been busy,” he avoids my question, but he should know he gets on my nerves when he’s doing the macho-act. 

“With what?” 

“Staying alive.” 

What did they do to him? And.. did he lose weight? 

My earlier awkwardness forgotten, I walk up to him and start unbuttoning his shirt. 

Surprised by my action, he asks gruffly, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

When the last button is undone, I push away the fabric and reveal his naked torso. 

“Oh, God,” I quietly gasp, seeing his ribcage too clearly under his skin. I gently rub my gloved hand from his taut stomach to his side. “Didn’t they feed you?”

He doesn’t answer. When I look up, I see him staring at the opposite wall. 

“Logan,” I say, trying to get through to him. “What did they do to you? Are you okay?”

“Never felt better,” he returns, but doesn’t meet my eyes. 

I sigh. This isn’t going anywhere. If he wants to shut me out, there is nothing I can do about it. 

I focus on the sight right before me, and I realize my hands are still lingering on his body. One on a hipbone, one on his chest. I quickly withdraw and tell myself to get a grip, but even starved he looks way too good. With those pants still low on his hips, I try not to look at the little black hairs disappearing behind the olive-green fabric, and so first things first - he’s going to need a belt. 

The sight of those low-riding pants makes me want to giggle out of nervousness.

* * *

“I really hate being called The Conductor,” Faye mutters while she and I are hanging around on the wooden platform. “It’s such a manly name. Why didn’t they come up with something more graceful?”

“Fuck them,” I grumble, wrapping a lock of my greasy hair around my finger. “Just make up a new one yourself.”

“Hmm, how about… Conducta?” 

“Sounds like a witch-name. It’s awful.”

Softly nudging my side, she grins. “Lighten up, babe. What are you brooding about?”

“Nothing,” I say, watching Logan on the other side of the cell. With his long legs pulled up and his forehead resting on his knees, he’s doing a pretty good job ignoring us.

We've been in here for a couple of hours now and he’s hardly talked to us. I hate to feel so rejected. Was I so wrong about our friendship? I thought we had something. A bond. A connection. Something. 

“Right,” Faye says, mockingly rolling her emerald-green eyes. “You know what? I’ll sing you a song.”

“Oh please, spare me.”

Not listening to my complaint, she clears her throat and starts squealing, “Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay! My, oh, my, what a wonderful day! Plenty of sunshine headin' my way! Zip-e-dee-doo-dah, zip-e-dee-ay!”

Somewhere at the end of the hallway a guars roars, “Shup up, bitch!”, and it’s so outright silly that I can’t help but laugh even though Logan doesn’t react at all.

“Stupid chick. How old are you again?”

“Twenty-four, thank you very much. So, how about that new name?”

I sigh. “Fine. Let me think. How about… Conductress? It’s strong, feminine and sexy.”

“Yes,” she says enthusiastically. “Sarah Faye, Conductress. Oh, I like the sound of that.”

“Good,” I mumble, eyeing the man in front of me again but not knowing how to close the uncomfortable gap in our friendship. And to make it even more uneasy, I still really need to pee. My bladder is starting to hurt. Can I be just as shameless as Faye? Maybe Logan needs to go too. I told him to tell me, but if he does, can I help him without fainting?

How did life get to complicated all of a sudden? Another minute of this angst looming over my head and I’ll scream. 

Like an answer to my prayer, I suddenly hear footsteps coming our way. Logan’s already walking up to the metal bars. He can’t use his claws on them because they’re really electrically powered and connected to all our collars. The walls have an adamantium coating. They’ve really thought this through, unfortunately. 

Three heavily-armed soldiers march to our cell, glaring at Logan and raising their guns. “We need the girl,” one of them barks and Faye and I exchange worried glances. Which one of us?

I want to walk toward them but Logan protectively steps in front of me. I can see his hands clench frustrated into fists behind his back. 

“It’s okay,” I whisper while I try to sneak past him, but it’s not, really. I’m scared and tired, but I don’t want him to know. 

The soldiers don’t give a damn about any of it. They simply pull their triggers and Logan doesn’t make a sound when he goes down. The scream that was trying to break free a few minutes ago now escapes, and I cry out for the both of us.

* * *

“Asshole! What were you thinking?”

I’m so mad at Logan. If he wasn’t still recovering from his injuries, I’d kick his ass to goddamn China myself. 

He doesn’t respond other than scowling in frustration. Faye took care of his wounds while I was gone, and she’s still in awe about the way his body got rid of the bullets and closed the bloody holes under her hands. I think she’s a little intimidated by what happened. I would be too if I hadn’t seen his ability to heal several times before. Still, I’m not used to seeing him hurt, and I’m livid because he got hurt because of me. 

“You’re not immortal,” I snap at him. “You’re not fucking Superman. Stop risking your life for me.”

“Look, kid--”

“Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up! I don’t want to hear it. I can’t take this. I’m… I’m lost without you, stupid.” My anger is suddenly gone and I frantically wipe away my tears. “Without you, my life is so goddamn empty, I swear I’ll follow you into death, hunt you down, and give you a good smack around those sensitive ears of yours.”

He has the courage to chuckle but that makes him cough. Good. That should teach him. 

I sink down on the cold floor next him. Faye’s silently watching us from a corner. 

“But are you okay?” he asks. “Did they hurt you?” 

He’s probably just as worried about me like I am about him. Great. Now he manages to make me feel guilty for bitching out to him like that. He’s just concerned. 

“I’m fine. Dr. Graham hooked me up to an IV with a fluid he didn’t want to tell me about. It wasn’t bad. He called it the first session of my treatment. That’s all.”

Both Faye and Logan are scanning me now, trying to find some signs of injury. I’m telling the truth though. It wasn’t bad at all. That Graham-guy isn’t creepy. Well, not as creepy as the rest of the scum. He also changed the bandages again. My skin’s healing up already.

Faye asks worriedly, “But you’re feeling okay, right?” 

“Yeah. Just a little tired. And still angry at Mr. Superman-wannabe.”

Actually, I’m feeling so damn tired that I can fall asleep right here on the floor. And I still need to pee, but I’m *so* ignoring that. 

I take a deep breath and feel my hands trembling. I rest my forehead against Logan’s knee and whisper, “Please, don’t take any more risks.”

It takes a while for him to answer. “I promised to take care of you.”

“One condition to achieve that promise is to be alive and conscious,” I return tiredly, but I’m getting warm fuzzies because he's showing his caring side again. 

When he doesn’t answer, I look up. 

His eyes are closed, head resting against the metal-covered wall. His shirt, still dark and wet, is sticking against his chest by his own blood. Faye looks so sad, her bright eyes are without their usual cheerfulness. What a miserable bunch we are. 

Finally, Logan says, “I can’t let you go without some form of protest. It’s feels wrong.”

Despite the seriousness, I have a flashback of our pizza-conversation. 

I clutch against his leg, again resting my head against the olive-green pants, and say, “Like eating pizza with gloves.” 

I don’t need to look up to know that he’s faintly smiling. “Yeah. Hey, kid?”

“Hmm?”

“Stop comparing me to Superman. A guy wearing tights is an even bigger pansy than Scooter.”


	20. Chapter 20

Day nine, today. 

What can I say? I don’t think words can describe what Faye, Logan and I are going through. I’m so fed up with my life right now. 

I refuse to think about the other mutants here. It’s too hard for me handle. I just concentrate on our own cell. There are times that I feel sorry for Faye. She suddenly has to share her space with two strangers, but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she and Logan seem to get along quite fine, thank heavens. Don’t know what I’ll do if they ended up hating each other’s guts. It’s not like I can walk away from it all. 

The soldiers come to get me for my so called treatment every day. It doesn’t hurt, but I do get sick and I think my hair is falling out. Faye thinks that they’re trying to kill my mutated cells. Sorta like curing cancer with chemotherapy. 

Those fuckers. I happen to have great hair. Is that what I’m destined to? Being captured by the bad guys so they can mess up my hair? Okay, so the white streaks by Erik aren’t that bad, but I'll kill Stryker if I end up just as bald as Chuck. God, that’ll be my worst nightmare for sure. 

I don’t have a clue as to why they would try to cure me from my mutation. I don’t think I want to be touchable here in this shithole. I kind of like my protection. I guess it’s true what they say: careful what you wish for. 

I’ve also been wishing for Logan to notice me in a more grown-up way, so why didn’t I get that? Life can be such a bitch. 

Dr. Graham isn’t telling me shit either. He just hooks me up to that IV and leaves while a few soldiers watch me with their tranquilizer guns ready to fire. No great escape there.

The bright side of life is that I know Derek’s still alive. Apparently he’s my private lab rat, the poor guy. After every treatment we have to touch each other, but so far every skin to skin contact ended up the same. He goes down and I try to deal with more of him in my head without showing the Doc. I thought Derek would hate my guts by now, but he understands I’m a victim too and that I don’t want to hurt him. Still, I feel terribly guilty about it all. 

I’ve lost my appetite completely because of the treatment. I throw up more than once every day, and I feel like I’m getting weaker and weaker. I've spent my days either lying on the plank or hugging the toilet. Both Faye and Logan are worried. They force me to eat something even though they know I’ll toss my cookies anyway. It’s downright gross, because I can’t even brush my teeth. Eew. 

Despite my attempts to share our meal, Logan simply refuses to eat anything. He’s insisting his healing can take it, but I know it won’t take long before he doesn’t heal at all anymore. Faye doesn’t know how to handle those arguments and tries to stay out of it most of the time, which is pretty smart. Our fights tend to get pretty nasty from time to time. We always make up eventually, but he still doesn’t eat. Stubborn mule. I swear I’m going kick his ass when he’s fully healed again. 

The food isn’t the only thing Logan and I quarrel about. We also fight over the fact that he wants me to touch him and take a little of his healing. When I’m on my knees in front of the toilet it sure seems tempting, but I always manage to convince myself that don’t want Stryker to know that I can take other mutant’s powers. Especially not Logan’s. God knows what they’ll do with me. Besides, Logan is barely conscious himself. 

I’m so worried about him. They take him away every night, threatening to hurt me if he doesn’t cooperate. I hate that they have such power over him. There are times I wish I’d die so that he’s free to fight himself out of here. I feel dead half the time anyway. It wouldn’t make much a difference, I suppose.

The soldiers always drag him back in the mornings. They just throw him back in here, cuffed and all, and then he drags himself to a corner where he sinks down into a miserable heap and wants to be left alone. He seems more exhausted every day, and no matter how fast he heals, he can’t hide bloodstains on his uniform. The olive-green is replaced by a rusty brown-red.

Lack of sleep, lack of food, and every night’s torture is taking its toll. He hardly speaks, hardly moves. Still, he’s strong enough to stand up straight if they’re coming for him. All I can do is throw up and feel all my strength going down the drain with every breath I take. I hate that.

Right now, I’m staring at him while he sits on the floor against the opposite wall, looking pissed off and exhausted. He hasn’t said a word since he’s back from his nightly adventure and I’ve given up trying to make him talk about it. I don’t think I even want to know any more. A person can only take so much. I’ve reached my real-life-horror limits. The rest of my life I’m entitled to happy stuff only. You hear that, you karma-God or whatever you are? Stop throwing crap my way. It’s my turn for Disney again, damnit.

Ugh, look at him. He’s lost even more weight. He looks so pale in this bright light, and there are lines in his face I’ve never seen before. The only rest he gets is when he’s unconscious. There are times that I hope that he’ll stay out all day, because maybe it’ll give his regenerative powers a boost. 

He can use some Disney too. The X-rated version, of course. Or… I don’t think Logan’s the kind of guy who gets off on Mickey and Mini doing the wild thing. I bet he likes Pocahontas though. Or Arial. She’s a redhead, right? But then again, she’s half fish and with Logan’s sense of smell - what the hell am I rambling here? Jesus, I sound like a fucking nutcase. I hope there are no telepaths here. 

Hmm, makes you wonder. 

Hey you! Yeah, you! If you’re listening in, contact a guy called Charles Xavier and tell him we need his help. If you’re done, get the fuck out of my head before I send my inner-Logan after you! Beat it!

There. That should do it. Now I can think of some… uh… private stuff. 

I think about that little talk we had in my room when I was packing my stuff. The one about embarrassing moments. The irony. Little did we know that we’d encounter those moments numerous times since we've been here in this cell. With Logan’s hands cuffed al the time, he’s completely dependent on us for basics such as drinking and bathroom stuff. I know I was stressing about taking him to that metal toilet, but by now it seems so normal that I’m ashamed about my childish behavior. I didn’t know a person could change that much in just a couple of days.

When Logan asked me if my offer to help him was still on, I’d felt so nervous I couldn’t look him in the eyes without bursting into nervous laugher. I focused on one of the buttons of his shirt instead and lied that it was no problem at all. I didn’t want Faye to do it. That would’ve felt like I was backing out on our friendship. It’s a ‘for better and for worse, in sickness and in health’ kind of thing. I wasn’t going to back out. God knows he never did when *I* was in trouble. 

So eventually I found myself standing behind him, nervously fumbling with the buttons of his pants. I went through the files of his memories inside my head to dig one up of him going to the bathroom, hoping to find something fitting. He’d leaned heavily against me, almost tumbling backwards. I tried to still my trembling hands and hide my flushed face into his back. Faye pretended to be busy with God knows what, and I was thankful she wasn’t making a fuss about it, because even though Logan was the one in an awkward position, I was the one who felt embarrassed. I didn’t think I could just stick my hand in his pants and guide him to urinate into the bowl, his memories be damned, but then he almost collapsed and I knew I was being stupid. He was totally worn out and I was making drama about touching him intimately. Ugh.

So I did what I had to do and tried not to think about the fact that I’d been fantasizing about touching Logan this way, but under very different circumstances obviously. I also tried to ignore the fact that he felt warm and heavy in my gloved hand. God, I’m almost too ashamed to admit this, but he… you know… he was *bigger* than I expected. I have his memories, but having a mental picture of seeing him in his own hand is a world of difference than feeling him in mine. I mean, in case you haven’t noticed, his hands are kind of huge too. 

Crap, I know I shouldn’t be thinking all this, and yeah, I do feel guilty about it, but I can’t help it. I’m in love with him. I’ve been fantasizing about us in a… let’s say… in a sexual way more than once, and there I suddenly was, holding his… manliness. 

Okay. Did I just think ‘manliness’? Jesus, I’ve got to stop reading those cheesy novels Kitty loves. His manliness, what a joke. As if Logan’s manliness is depending on his… oh, my god, I’m so pathetic. I can’t even say it in my mind. Okay, deep breath. I can do this.

His dick. 

Or penis. 

Or cock. 

There, now. It wasn’t so hard, was it? Uh, no pun intended, of course. 

Christ, I really should get my mind out of the gutter. It was all very emotional and odd and just… weird. To ease my nervousness, I ordered, ‘Don’t wet my gloves, bub,’ and even though I knew he was sensing all emotions on me, he simply told me to look what I was doing and aim properly. When I finally had the courage to take a peek from behind his back, I saw that we’d almost missed the bowl completely. 

By now, the three of us are used to this all. Faye is the one who's been helping him the most these last two days, because I can hardly stand up straight myself. I don’t think he cares about who’s doing what though. For the first time since I’ve known him, I understand his lack of embarrassment. You don’t get to play picky or shy in situations like this, even though it took me almost a day and a half to use the toilet in his presence. 

By now, I don't think we have any shame left. Such a change from the first night when we shared that hotel room with the Jacuzzi. It seems ages ago. 

Funny how our boundaries rearrange in situations like these. We simply accept the given circumstances and move on. Logan doesn’t need to use the bowl for other purposes though. I don’t think his intestines even work anymore. There simply isn’t anything to digest because he still doesn’t eat. And that brings me back again to his weight loss. 

It’s really starting to worry me. He’s getting so skinny. I feel my chest tighten every time I look at him. He looks so lost, so vulnerable, sitting there in a corner, I want to give him a hug. I know he doesn’t want the company though, so I guess I'll just stay here, wrapped in my blanket while Faye is napping next to me. 

To occupy myself with less miserable topics, I wonder what life at the Mansion might look like today. Do they know by now something’s wrong? Did Jubes realize I was seriously worried? I haven’t talked to her for nine days now. Surely she knows something’s off, right? 

There I go again. Miserable things. I need to do something else. Anything. As long as it takes my mind off of wondering why the X-Men haven't come to the rescue by now. I think I’m going to pester Logan.

I stand up and shuffle weakly his way, but he doesn’t seem to acknowledge my presence. I don’t care though. When I sink next to him, I drape the blanket over the both of us and lean my head against his shoulder. 

“Do you remember that one time, when I wanted you to teach me how to ride a bike?” I ask quietly, but he doesn’t answer. Since he doesn’t flinch away either, I continue, “You wanted to steal Scott’s precious again but I lectured you to ask him nicely.”

Faye’s awake and smiling. She knows that story, too. 

Nuzzling his upper arm, I say, “I never thought you’d listen to me, but you did. Of course Scott refused. God, the look on his face when you told him that you knew plenty of other things you could teach me to ride instead – it was one of those priceless moments, sugar.”

He still doesn’t respond, but I know he’s listening. 

“Too bad I wrecked the damn machine after we stole it anyway. It was really sweet of you to take the blame. I’ve never seen Scott go ballistic like that.”

I giggle at the thought and I can see that Logan’s scowl is gone for just a moment. It’s all I need as encouragement. 

“Our relationship is clearly out of balance. You always seem to save my sorry ass.”

“Except for now,” he answers flatly, but the frown doesn’t return on his face.

I caress his filthy hair and he lets me. “Don’t say that. We’ll get out of here, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t respond other than closing his eyes and heaving a deep sigh.

* * *

Day ten. 

In three days it’s time for our weekly shower. Last time, the soldiers gave Faye and me a plastic bag for our clothes and blankets to prevent them from getting soaked. They told us that they’d be back in five minutes to rinse our cell with us in it. I hated to be exposed to them, but I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want my clothes to become drenched. 

Faye and I waited in our underwear for the soldiers to come. I couldn’t make myself to strip completely. I simply didn’t want to give them the pleasure. I tried to cover my upper body with my arms while I pressed myself into a corner of our cell, cursing my stupid yellow thong. 

I swear, from now on I’m going to wear boxers only. At least I’ll be decently covered when I’m forced to take off my clothes again, which, God forbid, won’t happen anymore. What was I thinking when I bought that damn piece of lace anyway? Yellow is *so* not my color. It makes my skin look blue-ish pale and these lights aren’t flattering either. Ugh, I’m going to kill Jubes if I ever get out of this fucking bunker. 

Anyway, the cell-shower wasn’t all that bad. Yeah, it was freezing, but it was nice to wash away the filth even though some of those assholes were leering and making extremely rude comments. I’m glad they’re all too freaked out by my skin. It’s all ‘look but don’t touch’. I’ve never been this happy with my mutation.

After the soldiers had left, Faye and I quickly changed into our dry clothes, leaving our underwear to dry on the plank. My yellow lace next to her black, cotton panties with a pinkish ‘Ken is gay’ written on the front. 

Now that’s a statement I wholeheartedly support. I never really knew what Barbie saw in that sexless doll to begin with. If I was a blond goddess with all the perfect curves, I’d dump Kenny-boy and take off with the entire team of Action Man. Heheh. Yep, those are real men. The Logans of the action dolls. 

Hmm, I guess I feel better. I’m rambling again. 

Now, where was I? Oh, right, shower-session. 

Okay, so our clothes smell gross, but at least they’re sorta warm. Still, I think I have to wash them this time. I smell so goddamn awful, I make myself sick. And I’ll probably look just as rotten. How I’d love to have a mirror. I think I’ve lost quite a lot of hair, but Faye says I still look pretty. I seriously doubt her optimistic chatter. I don’t feel any bald spots though. Let’s just hope for the best.


	21. Chapter 21

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think Xavier knew that you wrote my essay about ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’?”

We’re lounging on the plank for a change, covered by a blanket. Faye’s dozing off on the ground, her coat and my cloak keeping her warm. Apparently Logan’s feeling social today. Instead of dragging himself to a corner, he told me to move over and collapsed next to me. 

“Psychic,” is all he grunts.

“But he gave me an A.”

“Fucking good essay.” 

He keeps his eyes closed and I’m glad. Every time those beautiful, weary eyes with their dilated pupils lock onto mine, my heart aches. I try to concentrate on his heartbeat instead. My gloved hand is resting on his bare chest. I guess there simply wasn’t anything left from his shirt this morning. 

“Why?” he asks. 

I’ve been so wrapped up in the rhythm of his heart, it takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about. 

“I was rethinking my sins.”

Now he blinks in confusion. “That’s a sin?”

“Yeah, well, one of them.” I shrug. 

I was thinking about my life so far. If I die here, have I been a good person?

“What else?”

“Why? You’re my priest or something?”

“Dirty, little secrets, darlin’.”

I laugh quietly and suddenly feel a familiar feeling in my stomach - butterflies. Despite his condition, he really seems in a pretty good mood today. 

“Well, pardon my French but fuck you, Father.”

“Celibacy,” he jokes passively, but then he shuffles and quietly groans in pain. His healing is also compensating for the pain in his muscles with the constant uncomfortable position of his cuffed hands. Faye and I try to massage his sore shoulders if he lets us, but I’m afraid it doesn’t help much. 

I watch him suspiciously for a moment to see if there's any hint of friendly betrayal on his face, but there seems to be none. Am I brave enough to share all my sins?

"If I tell you, you promise not to make fun of me?"

“No.”

It makes me giggle. That’s the friend I know and love. 

“Well, alright. I stole a lipstick once, when I was fourteen.” I await his reaction, but he simply arches an eyebrow. Okay, so that wasn’t bad enough? Fine, I have more. “And I cheated on my physics exam.”

Closing his eyes, he murmurs, “Naughty.”

“Got me a B,” I tell him smugly. And I *so* needed that. I bet Xavier knew that too. He never said anything. You just got to love good ol’ Chuck. 

“That’s it?”

“Lemme think… Oh, right. Got another one. Remember when you stole Scott’s uniform?”

A ghost of a smile appears at the memory. “Yeah.”

“When we get back, do you think we should confess he never gained weight like we told him, but that I took in the seams?”

“No.” He smirks proudly. “I disavow all knowledge, remember?”

“Roger that, sir.” I laugh, and again I feel my stomach flip. 

More than anything I missed those precious little moments of our friendship. More than food, or a nice bed, or even the safety of the Mansion. If I could have just one wish right now, I’d wish for us to be the buddies we were before all this.

“More,” he orders again, and – crap, should I tell him that I stole a kiss from him? It seems so insignificant now.

“I uh… I’ve kissed you. When you were unconscious. At Tyee’s. Are you mad now?”

A lopsided grin enters his exhausted face. “Finally kissed and I missed out.”

Aww, that’s a really cute thing to say. I’m sure he’s just being polite and all, but still, it’s sweet. 

“It was just a brush. Didn’t want to drain you even more, sugar. I'm sure you didn't miss nothing.”

“Three ‘I love you’s,” he quietly says, still smiling. 

“What?”

“Not ‘Hail Mary’.”

He wants me to say ‘I love you’ three times instead of Hail Mary? What’s this? Does his ego needs a boost or something? I don’t mind saying that I love him, but I never thought he liked hearing those words. Well, not from me, anyway.

“Okay. You want me to kneel as well?” I joke, but then I cup his face in my hands and say, “Look at me.”

He opens his eyes and I suddenly notice the green has disappeared. I see an intense golden-yellow stare, and it makes me shiver. These are the eyes of a… a tiger. Or a wolf. Not Logan’s beautiful shade of hazel. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” I calmly whisper nonetheless, and the bastard manages to looks smug. Despite the fact that I desperately crave for him to tell me the same, I snort, smacking him on the chest. “Wipe that smirk of your face, mister.”

“I’m… fading,” is his sudden serious reply.

My playfully mood disappears too, and I frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Hiding his face into the palm of my hand, he explains quietly, “I’m losing control.”

Wolverine. He’s talking about the animal inside of him. Are they trying to unleash it? Is that what this all about? 

“Then what?” I ask, and helplessness rolls off of him as he edges away from me. 

“Don’t know. Just… stay away from him. From me.”

“No.” 

He should know my love is unconditional. I’ll always love him. Even if he doesn’t love me back like that. I’m simply programmed like that. 

“I might hurt you again.” He's still avoiding my stare, but I know where both thinking about that night in the Mansion. 

I reach out to caress his hair in order to comfort him, but he jerks back his head. “Don’t.”

It’s a rejection I don’t take well. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone in my entire life. 

It’s no comfort that he looks just as miserable.

* * *

“What do you mean ‘he healed’? We’ve fried half his brain, for God’s sake!” Stryker shouts. 

I’m in the lab once again, hooked up to an IV and listening in on a conversation in the room next door. Apparently Stryker and Dr. Graham are arguing over Logan’s medical records. If I stay quiet, I can make out everything they’re saying. Stryker is obviously pissed off, but the other man almost too calm. 

“He heals from anything, sir,” Dr. Graham tries to soothe Stryker. “It was just a matter of time. He's had sixteen years to recover.” 

“Matter of time! Matter of time! Why didn’t anyone tell me? He doesn’t remember anything, does he?”

“No, sir. He doesn’t seem to have any intact memories up until 16 years ago, but I don’t understand why. I think his healing is taking care of traumatizing memories itself, causing dissociative amnesia.”

Can that be true? Is Logan’s healing factor taking care of his mental health too? 

“Fuck that!” Stryker barks. “We’re too dependent on the girl. I want him stripped from any humanity left! I want the beast! I want my weapon back!”

I wonder if he stamps his feet like a hysterical child. I can’t help but feel disgust for that man. He deserves a very painful death. A slow, painful, very ugly death. 

“We’re trying, sir, but he seems to hold on no matter what. We can’t push too far. He’s not immortal. He needs to recharge. Some of the others are very powerful. Even though he’s always won so far, he *does* take damage.”

“Of course he wins! He always wins! That’s why I got him! He’s the best there is, and he knows we have the girl. Still, I want him to kill out of an urge, not because he’s pressured. Destroy his brain again, you hear me? I don’t care if he heals. When I’m back on Monday, I want the man killed and the beast out. This is taking far too long!” 

With those words I hear a door slam shut and I assume Stryker is gone. 

What are they talking about? Are they forcing Logan to fight? And what's that got to do with destroying his brain again? 

Shit, I need to think of something. Monday - that’s two days from now. I need to - wait a minute. Faye! Faye can transfer his thoughts to me. Yeah, and she can transfer them back as well. Thank you, God. Thank you for hooking me up with an angel like Faye.

* * *

“No.”

“Logan, please…,” I again try to convince him of my plan while all three of us are sitting on the plank.

“I said ‘no’.”

Ugh, that stubborn sonuvabitch. How I'd like to knock some sense into that thick skull of his. 

Faye mingles in our argument too. “Logan, it’s simple. Rogue already knows your memories, and as for me--”

“Not all of them,” Logan cuts her off. “We’re not doing this.”

Aaagh! He’s driving me up the walls. 

Faye and I look at each other and I roll my eyes at her. 

“That’s all the more reason to have a backup now,” she tries again. “I know you might be reluctant because I’m going to see your private thoughts, but I can promise you--”

He isn’t even listening anymore. He simply stands up and drags himself away from us. 

I sigh. This isn’t going anywhere. I give Faye an apologizing smile and walk up to him. He’s staring angrily through the bars into the passageway. 

“Logan, please let me finish,” I say quietly as I caress his back with gloved fingers. 

Touching him this way seems so normal nowadays. It’s almost strange how I was hesitant about any physical contact before all this. We were close, but I still had to gather all my courage to reach out for him like this. Bizarre. 

He bends his head and sighs, looking defeated, so I guess he knows I’m not giving up.

“I heard Stryker,” I say. “They’re going to wipe your memories again. Tonight, or maybe tomorrow. Please, let us help you.”

“Look,” he answers without turning around, “what happens at night – I don’t want you to know.”

Something inside of me shifts and I get the feeling he’s right about that. I really don’t want to know. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try to help. 

Keeping my voice steady, I explain, “It’s not just for you. It’s for me too. I can’t stand the thought you might forget about me. I know it’s completely selfish, but that’s just how I feel. I don’t want to lose what we have. I don’t want to lose *you*.”

He turns around and leans against one of the walls. I hate the sound of his cuffs, especially when it’s metal on metal. The sound of restriction. 

For a few moments we stare at each other. All I hear is the ever present humming of the electrically powered bars. Faye is quiet, probably hoping for a good outcome as well. 

I notice Logan’s eyes are losing the golden glint too. They seem to be turning completely yellow. Creepy yellow. Creepy yellow with big, black pupils. How much time do we have before he’s gone completely? Will Wolverine even recognize me? Know my scent, maybe?

Finally, he says, “I can’t, sorry.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I snap, a sick feeling nestling in my stomach. 

“Both,” he answers, and I suddenly know this is it. 

I’m going to lose everything. My freedom, my mutation, and now our friendship.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for sexual abuse. Please, read at you own risk.

Oh God, please let him be okay. Please, don’t let us be too late.

Faye and I slowly kneel to position Logan somewhat comfortably on the ground after the soldiers threw him right into our arms. We routinely check up on him, but we can’t find any wounds. He’s still unconscious though. Maybe he’s healed up already. I don’t see any new blood stains on his skin, but the fabric of his shredded pants is completely soaked with something that smells like gasoline. It doesn’t really provide us any additional information. 

At least he breathes, and as long as his heart is still pounding, we’re not going to freak out. 

“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Faye asks while she’s caressing his hair. “Maybe it’s wrong.”

I look up while I am wrapping his limp body in a blanket to keep him warm. “What?” I snap, feeling annoyed by her sudden flash of decency. “You transferred our thoughts to that creep Stryker without a doubt and *now* you think it’s time to go all Miss Moral?”

We’ve agreed on transferring Logan’s memories anyway, without his permission. Fuck ethics, I won’t allow him to lose his life again. I’m sure I can take it. I love him, damnit. I love him, no matter what. 

But he definitely needs to get out of those pants. He smells like a gas station. Yuck. 

While I’m tugging at the waistband, Faye retorts angrily, “Excuse me. In case you forgot, I had a gun to my head. It wasn’t like I had a choice, you know.”

Of course she’s right. I’m acting like a real bitch here.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… we *need* to do this. Please.”

She tucks the blanket around his legs while I throw the soaked pants into the metal sink to rinse it out later. “Maybe they’ve done it already.”

“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we? I mean, his mind would be empty or something, right?”

“Maybe. I’ve never touched anyone with no memories.”

“So, what are we waiting for?” I ask, and look at the man between us on the floor. 

He sure can use a clean-up. The stubble on his chin grew into a beard. It’s long enough to feel soft under my gloved fingers. Would it hurt against my skin?

“Hey babe,” Faye says. “I know he’s hot and all, but do you think we could get on with the show?”

“Right. Sorry.” 

Great. Busted while I’m getting carried away again. 

“You’re ready?”

“Yeah.” I nod, pretending to be braver than I actually am. “But remember what I told you, okay? About respecting his privacy and all?”

She looks at me with sad eyes. “Yeah. I won’t peek. I’m sure I don’t even *want* to know. Now brace yourself.” 

Her fingers touch Logan’s temple, and then she takes a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.” She raises her other hand to my head, but then we hear the sounds of heavy boots marching though the hallway. 

Shit.

We jump up and wait for the soldiers to come. 

What do they want this time? It’s too early for my treatment and we already had our lousy meal. 

Dwight and his men stop in front of the cell, and the tall, blonde man looks at Faye. “You! Get over here!” he barks. 

She gives me an assuring smile and whispers, “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

The barred door swings open and she walks out into the hallway. I watch her disappear with the guards and hope she’ll be alright, but when she’s gone, I let myself sink onto my knees next to Logan and rest my head on his chest where it’s covered by the blanket. 

I’ve failed. If Faye doesn’t return before they take him again, his memories will be lost. If they aren’t gone already. 

Damnit, why did I listen to him? What is he hiding? What are they forcing him to do at night? What is so horrible that he doesn’t want me to know? 

I try to broadcast another psychic message to the Professor, hoping he’s out there looking for us, but I’ve never learned how to reach out to mind readers and only feel stupid. 

All I can do now is wait.

* * *

A day has passed and there’s no sign of Faye. I refuse to think she’s dead. I’m pretending she’s in another cell. Call it ignorance, but I don’t give a fuck. I call it self-preservation. 

Logan still isn’t back either. For the first time I’m all alone in here, which is kind of ironic, because for the first time since I’ve kissed David I can’t hurt anyone.

This morning, they made me touch Derek again. We both braced ourselves for another encounter of tragedy, but when our hands met, nothing happened. We both stared dumbly at our entwined fingers, surprised gasps the only sounds in the lab. Derek looked up, the beginning of a smile lighting up his face, and then he said, “I’ll be damned,” before the soldiers dragged him away again.

We never really spoke to each other, but I know so much about him. I know he thinks about me. He wonders who I am and what my mutation exactly does to him. I hope I can explain it one day, after the X-Men have rescued us all and we're safe and sound at the Mansion again. I bet he’s going to be a wonderful pilot for the Blackbird. I’d love to see the look on his face when we all get out of here and he’s sees our jet. 

The thought makes me smile. Not many things make me smile nowadays, so I guess I'll have to treasure this little fantasy until it’s reality. 

When Derek was gone, Dr. Graham took another blood sample, and then they took me back to a still empty cell. I never talk to the soldiers, but this time I really wanted to ask where everyone was. I didn’t, of course. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of shutting me up by drugging me - or worse now that I’m touchable.

* * *

I just had my weekly shower. I was really scared the guards would try something, but I don’t think these guys know about Dr. Graham’s breakthrough. They kept their distance and I kept on most of my clothes as they pointed the hose my way. 

Now, I'm waiting for my cellmates dressed in just a cloak and Dr. Martens. My clothes are drying on the plank, so besides feeling anxious, I also feel a bit like a flasher. I can’t imagine there are people who get off on walking around like this. It feels just like peeing through a bathing suit. It’s creepy and wrong. 

I can’t stop pacing, and I can’t stop wondering about Faye and Logan. Have they erased his memory by now? Is that why they needed Faye? To see if he was ‘clear’? Or maybe they got new prisoner and they needed her? But why is it taking them so long? And where the hell is Logan?

As an answer to my prayer (well, sort of prayer), I hear soldiers coming my way again. They’re dragging Logan’s unconscious body along with them, his hands no longer cuffed and he’s stark naked. I can’t kill their valuable weapon with a simple touch anymore. 

I jump up to catch him the best I can, stumbling backwards because he’s simply too heavy for me alone, and we both go down hard. It’s making the guards laugh as they close the door and leave, but I promise myself I’ll laugh at them when they land on their asses after being skewered by six metal blades. Assholes. 

I sit down next to my buddy to check his wounds, but then I notice his skin is a really weird color pink. Like, when you got a blister and underneath there’s new skin. His hair’s shorter too. And where’s the beard?

Oh, God. Did they actually set him on fire this time? Is that raw, new skin? I suddenly feel sick. 

I’m just in time to turn around and splatter what little I had in my stomach all over the floor. 

Gross, but at least I didn’t throw up on either of us, and I more or less aimed for the drain. I’ll deal with it later. 

I tie a blanket around his waist and hope the rough fabric isn’t too painful against the sensitive skin. I can’t let him walk around naked though. That’s just denigrating. Like he isn’t even worth it to wear clothes. He’s a man, damnit, not some animal, no matter what they think.

When I’m done, I collapse next to him and allow myself so get some sleep. I’m exhausted from trying to stay awake. I’ll take a nap first and then I’ll clean up in here.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but when I finally feel a bit human again, yellow eyes suspiciously look at me from under lowered eyebrows. I knew Wolverine existed, I knew him as a part of Logan and even as a part of me, but I never really met him. Until now, it seems. 

I have to admit I’m a bit scared. I’m sharing a cell with someone who looks like Logan, but Wolverine is definitely in charge. It sorta feels like I’m trapped in Discovery Channel - I’m the little prey that’s about to get brutally slaughtered by a big, bad predator. 

I slowly creep to the plank to check my clothes, but they don’t seem to dry in this cold, clammy shithole. I definitely feel a bit too naked under my cloak while he’s glaring at me with those creepy, yellow eyes. 

I also realize I don’t have anything to defend myself with if he decides to consider this cell his territory. He’s slowly retreating to a corner, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of me. He’s so intensely watching every movement, it’s seriously giving me the creeps. I thought Logan’s scanning-stare was eerie sometimes, but I’ll take Logan over Wolverine anytime. 

God has heard more of my prayers than I ever could dream of, but somehow He never has the setting right. The Big Guy upstairs and I should really have a good talk and get some things sorted out, because He clearly doesn’t understand any of my little fantasies. Yes, I wanted Logan to look at me with eyes that said, ‘I’m so going to eat you’, but I really didn’t mean it that literally. Ugh.

So… now what?

Maybe I should try to make contact. If he continues watching me like that, I’m going to scream and then he’s going to gut me and have me for dessert for sure.

Okay… so… how do you make friends with a wild animal with nine inch claws? I hope I don’t end up missing my fingers as I almost did with that traitor Woof. I just wanted to pet the damn dog.

Okay. Take a deep breath and just be my charming self. I managed to lure my way in with Logan, I can do this with Wolverine too. No stabbing allowed though. I can’t use his healing anymore. What a bad timing to be cured.

Well, there I go. Animals want to smell scents, right? Right. So… Please don’t eat me, or gut me, or rip me into pieces, ‘kay? Okay. 

“Logan?” I whisper.

No reaction. Just watchful eyes. 

I fear Wolverine just as much as I miss Logan, and Logan is in there. Behind those yellow eyes. He has to be. 

“Logan?” I try again. 

Nothing. 

I slowly crouch forward. 

I know he’s getting mixed signals from me. I’m scared of him, and yet, I’m about to invade his personal space. I can only hope he’ll stay calm.

The first warning growl escapes his mouth, and I stop. 

Four feet between us. I see the muscles in his shoulders and chest tense. Crap, is he’s going to attack me?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say quietly, raising my hands with the palms up, showing I’m no threat, but his body tenses up even more. He doesn’t move though. Good, I guess I’ll just continue then. 

Shuffling an inch closer, I try to maintain eye contact. “It’s me, Logan. Don’t you recognize me?”

No reaction. 

I’ll shuffle another inch on my knees and he growls again in response. Not really threatening this time. Maybe he’s just warning me. 

Another inch closer while he backs up into the corner.

I whisper, “Calm down, sugar.”

He can’t edge back anymore and I’m so close. Softly growling, he glares at me anxiously, his knuckles white from tightly clenched fists. 

For some reason I just keep on going while I’m trying not to remember how it felt to be on the receiving end of the blades. (Couldn’t breathe, a sudden burning in my chest but hardly any pain.)

“Shh. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. You know me.” And I hope he won’t hurt me in return while I carefully move my hand, still with my palm up, to his face. 

He leans in a little. His eyes never leave mine when he smells my palm, but other than that, he doesn’t move. 

Does he recognize my scent? 

“I miss you,” I tell the manlike beast in front of me, but - nothing. He’s completely motionless, except for some increased breathing. I have to be careful, but I have to do something, right? We can’t just sit here forever. 

“Can I touch you?” I ask. 

I don’t expect an answer, but maybe he understands what I’m saying. 

I lift up my hand, and little by little, I reach out for his hair. 

Yellow eyes dart from my hand to my face until I softly caress the spikes. 

Surprisingly, he lets me. 

“I love you,” I say, and I realize I’m crying. “Do you remember me?”

He looks so different without the sideburns, and yet so familiar at the same time. He’s really handsome. I always knew he was, but seeing his perfect looks right here in front of me makes me stare at him in admiration. Ironically, the beast looks more human than the man ever did. His skin color is back to normal by now and even his chest hair has grown back. 

My fingers trail over his cheek, perfectly smooth, over his jaw, and for a moment I think that he's fighting the urge to lean in, to trust me, so again I caress his hair and follow the same pattern. 

“Do you like this?” I ask, because I sure do. Touching him with my bare hands is scary and wonderful at the same time. 

I feel a rapid pulse in a vein in his neck and realize he maybe he doesn’t agree. Maybe he’s scared. Maybe he doesn’t like to be touched. The things they do to him – no, I’m not going to think about it. I need to concentrate. 

My hand seems to have a life of its own. 

I softly touch his throat. 

He starts panting, more than likely ready to leash out if I’m making a wrong move, but then my fingers roam over his collarbone, softly caress his shoulder, his arm, all the way down to his hand, and he doesn’t flinch away. He doesn’t really do anything other than watching me, but he’s still ready to strike and I’m not sure what to do next. 

It’s so tempting to touch him like this. It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt someone else’s skin without hurting them. And it’s Logan. Always-there-but-always-out-of-reach Logan. Even if Wolverine is in charge right now, I don’t think I can stop.

I watch my hand as it travels over his collarbone again, then down to his chest to feel the structure of those dark, curly hairs. Soft but not. How odd. 

Wolverine swallows hard and I look up, pulling back. 

His expression has changed a bit. He’s still cautious, still not trusting, but there’s also something else. Curiosity, maybe? Surprise? I’m not sure. But it’s a human expression. Human enough to make me realize I have no right to touch him like this. Like… like a lover. I should stop. Stop my hand from wandering over his skin. Stop the feather light touches over his chest. But he’s so close, so warm, so… Logan. 

No, I correct myself. This is Wolverine. Not Logan. And Logan doesn’t love me like I love him. He doesn’t want me like I want him. He doesn’t lust after me, and the beast might not be capable of any self-control and so this is a very bad idea. 

But somehow, a despicable awareness pops up anyway. 

If Logan isn’t in charge right now, I bet I’m just a female to Wolverine. Not little Marie. Not the kid Logan still sees. I could still get what I’ve been wanting all this time. 

We stare at each other, and even though he’s not making a friendly face, he’s still so damn handsome it makes my stomach flip. 

Ugh. 

No. 

I’m not going to take advantage. I can’t do this. It’s loathsome, and it’s wrong, and I could never betray our friendship like that.

But then my hand reaches out anyway and he just waits, tilting his head in such a way it’s almost cute. 

I touch his chest again. 

I never knew his skin felt so soft. It’s so different to touch someone else. It’s like my fingertips are overly sensitive. I register everything, meticulously mapping his body in detail while I trail lower, over his taut stomach, finally touching those perfectly toned abs. 

He’s lost so much weight; his healing has been in overdrive without any food to fuel the process, and he usually eats a lot after he’s been injured. It had to come from the inside this time. 

He gasps while his abdominal muscles ripple under my touch, and I almost squeak.

Did I do that? Is he ticklish? 

I touch him again, softly caressing the defined ridges, and instantly his abs clench.

Oh. 

That’s not… I don’t think it counts as being ticklish. I think… I think he’s getting aroused. I also think I should stop. I’ve reached the blanket and I don’t have the courage to follow the trail of soft, dark hair disappearing underneath the fabric. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen him naked or held that part of him in gloved hands, it’s still considered off limits in this context. 

And yet, it might be my only chance.

I’m lingering.

By now, he’s panting fast but hasn’t even lifted a finger. He’s definitely getting aroused though. There’s a bulge underneath the blanket I hadn’t seen before. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I am too. 

Does he know? Does he smell it in my scent? I shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this. Logan’s going to hate me for it. 

But he might never remember.

But what if he does?

What if he doesn’t?

“Logan?”

Nothing. Just - staring. Not as threatening as before, but intense enough to know I’m not exactly on his good side yet. 

So – no. I’m not going to get through with this. It’s wrong. I should be ashamed of myself. What am I thinking? I didn’t think I was this desperate. It’s pathetic. 

I back away, but then Wolverine suddenly ducks forward. It happens so fast I don’t even have the time to shriek. 

For a moment I think he’s stabbed me, but then I realize he’s only grabbed my cloak and he’s pulling me close. I try to push him away because one flick of those claws is all it takes, but he shoves me on my back and jumps on top of me.

“No!” I cry out, praying to please keep the claws inside. Please, please, please!

I try to fight my way out of his grip, recalling anything from my X-Men training, but his leg ends up between mine and he’s holding my hands above my head while he sniffing and growling in my neck. I don’t have a lot of leverage. He’s way too heavy and much too strong, and even though I’m kicking and squirming, it doesn’t do a lot of good. 

“Logan, please!” 

I’m so scared of the claws I’m trying to keep track of his hands and only futilely kick nothing but air. Then, I suddenly feel his lower body pressed against mine, and – No. Oh, God, no! 

I don’t know if he consciously wants to do this, but we’re both barely clothed and he’s aroused and I can’t close my legs and oh God oh God this can’t be happening!

Realizing I might have started something I don’t want to finish after all, I tremendously regret my earlier thoughts while tears start welling up. 

“Logan, no! No!”

I kick and squirm while he’s growling and not really doing anything except holding me close, but his tight grip is almost crushing my wrists and I don’t want to find out what’s coming next. 

Somehow, I manage to free one hand and hit him hard in the jaw, but it doesn’t even make a difference. He doesn’t back off and my hand hurts like hell. The struggle has untied the blanket, my cloak is riding up, and this is really a good time to panic because I don’t want this. I really don’t want this.

Suddenly, I’ve kicked him so hard he loses his balance. I turn around to crawl away. 

“Help! Please! Help!” I scream, but somewhere in the distance someone else tells me to shut the fuck up, and I know they really don’t care about any of us.

I try to get up on my feet, my hand hurts so much I cry out again, and I’m not fast enough. Wolverine’s back on top of me, roughly pinning me face down to the concrete floor. It hurts my ribs, I bump my head and my ears start ringing, and I bite my tongue hard enough to draw blood. For a moment, I can’t move at all while I’m gasping and whimpering in pain. 

It’s useless. I don’t know what he wants exactly, but I do know I can’t win this fight. His breathing is just as erratic as mine, and his heart’s pounding wildly against my back. Again, he’s roughly nuzzling my neck but I don’t understand the sounds he’s making. I don’t know if he wants to hurt me, or hold me, mate with me, or maybe even only play a bit, but I know I don’t want this but I can’t get away. 

He nudges my legs apart but I tell myself it’s not a deliberate move. Still, I can’t help but stiffen even more while he’s shifting on top of me. He’s still aroused. The evidence is pressing hard against my backside. I also know I can’t do anything but scratch the floor while I cry and whisper, “No. No, Logan, don’t.”

He growls again. Or maybe it’s a groan, I don’t know. Maybe he’s answering. Or maybe he’s glad I gave up the fight. 

There’s more shifting and despite my surrender, I still try to crawl away again, cradling my injured hand.

It’s not use though. He pins me down instantly. I spit blood while all air is knocked out of me again. My ribs hurt even more, and then I feel him, down there, rubbing against me. My body tries to close itself, but I’m so very ashamed of that slickness, I don’t think I can ever look myself in the eye again. 

There’s a thrust, a hard one, violently tearing me while I cry out in raw, almost unbearable pain. There’s a second, and a third, and I’m paralyzed by fear and a burning ache I never thought possible. 

No.

No!

This isn’t real. 

This isn’t happening.

I’m aware of what’s going on – jagged movements, my body jerking, I’ve lost a shoe - but I feel like I’m inside a warm bubble, absorbing all the rugged shifts, sounds, and even pain. Concrete suddenly feels nice and cool against my face, and I’m so tired. So damn tired. I think I’m just going to close my eyes.

‘No’, an inner voice says, and she sounds like mine.

What?

‘This *is* real. Face it.’

I can’t. Don’t want to. I’m tired.

‘Face it, goddamnit!’ she orders and I blink, suddenly back into the cell.

The pain I’d felt earlier is somewhat soothed, but I still feel so ripped apart I cry out while my whole body stiffens even more. I can’t breathe, everything hurts, and I can’t handle this. I really can’t. 

Wolverine roars, biting my shoulder, and I’m about to start another struggle when a few deep, hard thrusts ease the pain into something almost bearable. 

He collapses on top of me - I actually hear my ribs crack this time, and I eagerly welcome the sweet nothingness that follows.


	23. Chapter 23

Pain.

So much pain.

Can’t move. Can hardly breathe.

I don’t want to wake up. Gimme back the blackness. 

My head… I feel sick. I have to throw up. 

Swallow. Just swallow. 

The floor is so hard. It hurts my ribs.

I’m… bleeding? It’s sticky down there. 

I can’t look. 

It hurts too much.

* * *

Go away. 

Please, don’t touch.

Don’t… kiss me?

Warm lips. And stubble. A man. 

He lifts me up. Cups my face in his hands. He kisses me again. 

Lukewarm fluid – water? - seeps into my mouth. I’m so thirsty. I drink it all. 

He’s not kissing. He’s using his mouth to give water. 

Is it Logan? 

Wolverine? 

I want Logan.

* * *

Wood.

I’m on the platform. 

Someone’s holding me. 

He’s warm. It’s… nice.

Moist lips brush over mine, and I drink from his mouth again. 

I want to thank him, but I can’t. Too tired. 

He curls himself around me. 

I’m safe.

* * *

There’s a noise. 

An earthquake?

The warmth is gone. 

More noise. I think I groan. My head hurts so much. Everything hurts. 

I don’t want this. I want my warmth. I want water. 

Someone’s touching me, but it’s not him. There’s a woman’s voice. 

Ororo? 

I try to open my eyes but I can’t see. The lights are so bright and my head…

Let me. Just let me.

* * *

I’m warm again. And it’s so soft here. 

The pain is gone. 

It’s quiet. 

And dark. 

I’m floating. 

I think I want to stay here.

* * *

There are faces. Blurry. 

They talk sometimes. I don’t understand what they’re saying, but one looks like Jean. The other like Faye. 

There is a blue face with fur. He has a nice voice. Deep. I hear him best, but I can’t make out words. I don’t really care. 

I’m still in heaven.

* * *

~Rogue?~

Professor?

~Yes, dear.~

What’s… where am I?

~We’re having a telepathic conversation. You’re safe now. You’re with us in the Mansion.~

I am? How long? I don’t remember. 

~You were weak and mostly unconscious. We brought you back almost four days ago. Don’t worry. Your friend Sarah Faye told us everything we need to know.~

Faye? She’s here?

~Yes. She’s in good health and wants to talk to you.~

Oh, thank God! I thought - where’s Logan? Is he okay, too?

~He’s here.~

He’s okay, right?

~…~

Professor?

~I’m afraid he’s not quite like himself.~

Is Wolverine still in charge?

~No, but Logan’s going through a very difficult time. He doesn’t want to talk to us. We need you to wake up, dear.~

I don’t want to. It’s nice here. Warm. And soft. 

~I know, but you cannot hide in yourself forever. We miss you too much and perhaps, in time, you can get through to Logan.~

I don’t want to feel any pain.

~Jean and Dr. Hank McCoy will be taking good care of you. I believe you know Dr. McCoy?~

The blue, furry guy with the deep voice?

~Yes. He’s an excellent physician.~

He looks kind of cute.

~I don’t think anyone has ever called him as such.~

Professor?

~Yes?~

Did you peek inside my head? 

~No, Rogue. Your injuries make it quite clear what happened. I am deeply sorry.~

That bad, huh?

~You are going to be fine.~

Oh. Okay. But if I’m projecting something, I don’t want to talk about it. 

~I understand. Perhaps in time?~

Maybe.

~It’ll do you good.~

What’s the story so far?

~You were assaulted in the worst way possible, presumably by one of Stryker’s men?~

No comment. Did you talk to Logan?

~Yes. We have asked for details, but he doesn’t remember the last three days of his captivity. I assume those were the days Wolverine took over?~

I don’t want to talk about that either. 

~I understand that you are traumatized. However--~

I said, I don’t want to talk about it!

~...~

Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry.

~It is alright.~

It’s not. But I’m not ready. Okay? Give me some time.

~Very well.~

I’ll try to wake up. For Logan. Just don’t pressure me, okay? I’ll talk when I’m ready.

~You have my word.~

Thanks.

* * *

Okay.

I have to wake up. 

I am awake, aren’t I? I mean, I’m thinking, right? Maybe I should open my eyes? Yeah, good plan. 

“Hi,” Jean says, standing next to me in the dim glow of the night-lights. She’s beautiful with that caring smile and warm eyes. 

“Howdy,” I manage to croak back. 

My right arm’s in a cast. It’s broken? Damn that adamantium jaw. My ribs, they hurt like hell, and my head feels funny. All fuzzy and heavy. I think I’d rather want to sleep some more. 

“How are you feeling?” Jean asks worriedly, and she brushes a lock of hair out of my face with her bare hands. 

“I don’t know,” I tell her in all honesty, trying not to flinch. “Tired, I guess.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I understand,” she says compassionately, “but if you do--”

“I’ll know where to find you,” I hastily finish that sentence. 

Don’t want mushy stuff right now. I can’t take it. 

“That’s right.”

I sigh and close my eyes. 

I’m really tired. My head feels so heavy. I want to go back to sleep again, but there’s something I need to know first.

“Am I pregnant?”

She looks at me with eyes filled with kindness, but also with something I can’t really identify. Pity? I don’t want it. 

“No. The tests were negative, which… in this case, is positive, I believe.”

Oh. Okay. I’m not pregnant. Good. I guess.

“Yeah.”

I should be relieved. Carrying Logan’s child wasn’t something I wanted, right? 

But I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. It wasn’t supposed to be an option. 

“Rogue, there is something I need to ask you,” Jean says quietly, and I can see that she’s having a hard time with whatever she wants to get off her chest. 

“What?”

“I want to know if you want us to run some tests to see if you’re… if you’re healthy.”

I eye her warily. What is she talking about? Oh, of course. STD’s. Well, *that* never crossed my mind. I mean, it was Logan. Of course he’s healthy. Still, I can’t tell her that. 

Wait a sec - she’s not peeking inside my mind, is she? Nah, she looks so uncomfortable, she probably thinks this is all very painful for me. 

“Sure,” I tell her, copying her concerned expression. “Go ahead. I’d like to know too.” 

“Okay. I’m sure you’ll be okay,” she tries to comfort me, and I show her an assuring smile. 

“Yeah. Can I go back to sleep now?”

Heaving a relieved sigh, she whispers, “Sure.”

“Okay. Thanks, you know…,” I trail off, feeling kind of awkward. I’m not much of a talker when it comes down to feelings and stuff. 

She caresses my arm. “It’s okay. You just rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. ‘Night.”

“Good night, Rogue.”

* * *

“She’s waking up! Hank!”

That’s Faye’s voice. She really *is* here. 

I try to open my eyes but my eyelids seem so heavy. Still, I manage to peek and see my cellmate. *Former* cellmate, I mean. 

“Hey, babe,” she softly says with a big smile. 

“Hey, yourself,” I greet back. 

A big, blue, furry head hovers over me. That must be Hank. 

“Good afternoon,” he says, surprisingly articulate for someone with fangs. “Finally I see those famous brown eyes everyone talks about.”

I can’t help but smile at that. I’ve had far worse wake-up calls. 

“Dyani’s eyes,” I mumble, even though I know he won’t understand the private joke. 

“Are you thirsty?” he asks, and I suddenly remember someone letting me drink from his mouth. What it Logan? Wolverine? Was it even real?

I carefully nod and try to focus on Faye. She looks good. Different without the black clothes and the collar. Thank God mine is gone, too. 

She still smiles at me, and I think I see tears in her glowing, green eyes. “I’m so glad you’re awake,” she says. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Let’s get her a drink first, shall we?” Hank suggests while he carefully lifts me up with one arm and offers a plastic cup with a straw. 

I slowly take a few sips and instantly feel a bit better. I could use a shower too. I suddenly smell my hair. Well, what’s left if it anyway. I have to remember to ask for a mirror later on.

“Guess what I brought you?” Faye asks, and I try to see what she’s hiding behind her back. 

“What?”

“Tada!” She shows a bag of M&M’s, and my smile actually hurts my face. 

I’ve been nagging for my favorite candy so many times, I was probably driving her crazy. 

“Stupid chick,” I tell her, closing my eyes again as she opens the bag. 

“Damn, babe. We’re free. Can you believe it? Free.”

She’s right. 

I should feel happy, but I’m not. I suddenly feel so overwhelmed by grief, I have to swallow hard to keep my smile. “You’re damn right, Tinkers.”

While she stuffs a handful of candy in her mouth, she says, “Okay, sit back and get comfy. I’m going to fill in the blank spots.”

I smile a real smile now. “Well, I wasn’t going anywhere. Let’s hear it.”


	24. Chapter 24

Three hours later, I hang in Hank’s strong, furry arms, throwing up my sugar-spree. Oh, my ribs hurt like a bitch. Mental note to self: try not to get sick when ribs are bruised. Bad idea. *Very* bad idea. Hank had warned me not to eat candy, but I just *had* to celebrate my freedom with M&M’s. 

“Better?” he asks, patiently waiting until I’m done retching and groaning.

“No,” I whine, knowing I sound pathetically childish. 

“Maybe you should rest a little. You’ve been awake long enough,” he suggests, carefully lowering me down into my pillows again, and I think it’s a brilliant idea. But not before I tell him something.

He had shooed Faye out of the lab, and the way she teased him about owing her dinner makes me think they got to know each other pretty well while I was unconscious these past four days. Creepy how life goes on while you miss out, but they make a cute couple. A fragile-looking fairy and a big, blue teddy bear. I want to be the maid of honor.

“Hey, Hank?”

“Yes?”

“Faye’s a vegetarian. Just so you’d know,” I say, feeling myself dozing off again.

* * *

All these people who want to talk to me. It’s nice to know they care, but I feel like I’ve been on a rollercoaster for weeks. I’m so goddamn tired. I really need some time alone. 

I also need to find out what I *feel*. Besides the physical pain of my injuries, I really don’t have a clue. What am I going to tell Logan when he wants to know what happened? I think he’ll drop by tonight. He’s probably waiting for some privacy. I need to get my head around it all before I face him. I don’t even know if I *can* face him, so that should be the number one focus right now.

If it wasn’t for my injuries, I’d think it was all a creepy nightmare. I mean, being here with everybody – it seems so surreal. Maybe it’s because I’ve skipped the transfer. One moment I’m being raped by my best friend, and the next I wake up safe and sound and everybody is acting normally. It’s just all too weird. 

It makes me wonder, one of those Truth or Dare questions is always to tell about your first time. What am I going to say? My first time was with Logan? He took me from behind and never even kissed me? Jesus. I don’t think I can ever pick ‘truth’ from now on. 

What *do* you tell when your first time wasn’t romantic? When it wasn’t the way you’d imagined? Yes, it was Logan, and I secretly wanted my first time to be with him, but I never wanted it to be like *that*. But then again, maybe it’s for the better. Maybe it was time for me to grow up and get rid of stupid ideas of soul-mates. Silly beliefs in ‘love conquers all’ and hollow statements like ‘being meant to be’. Those things don’t exist after all I’m dealing with real life here, not some crappy romance novel. 

So, where is Marie now, huh? Optimistic Marie. Glasses-are-always-half-full-Marie. I don’t feel her. I don’t feel anything. Not really. I don’t even know who *I* am. Leftovers, I think. Leftovers from the girl I once was, combined with remains of David, Erik, Logan and Derek. A shadow of all these people and a shadow of myself. Can I be Marie again? I don’t know. And even if I can, can Logan and I continue to be the friends we were? 

I trusted him. I really trusted him. And yet… No, damnit, that wasn’t Logan. That was Wolverine. Logan would never hurt me. Not intentionally. Not like that. It doesn’t make it less painful though. Maybe even worse. I wanted it to be Logan. I wanted him to want *me*, but I could’ve been anybody. I was an available female in his territory, and I gave him the wrong signal.

Although… scent is honest. (Scents don’t lie.)

I wanted it, didn’t I? At first, I mean. I wanted it. And so once again God listened and totally screwed up my pretty little fantasy. It was all my fault. I have no right to blame Logan. Or Wolverine. No right at all. I started it. I thought I could play along in the grown up world, but I was wrong. I wasn’t ready. Not by far. 

Oh, well. A little late for those thoughts now. Let’s focus on the future: I can touch. It won’t last forever, but at least for a few months, maybe even years. I’ve asked Hank if he could develop the same medication Stryker used, but he told me it’s very unhealthy for the rest of my body. He calls it ChemoX. Too much can kill me, so it’s not a cure but a very slow poison. 

When I wondered why Styker started the treatment in the first place, Scott walked in and told me that he’s found evidence of some sort of breeding program in another section of the compound. Apparently Stryker wanted to cure me because then he knew for sure he had filtered the right DNA-string to stir into a mix of the most useful mutations. Logan’s DNA would’ve been the dominant one. All the other strings would be added as improvements. 

I asked if there was anything in the dossiers about night-vision, and Scott said there’d been indeed a file under the improvement-section that contained the DNA-formula of the mutation. It must’ve been Derek, but the file had the word ‘Terminated’ next to the registration number. According to Scott it was stamped in all files except for mine and Faye’s. Logan’s file was nowhere to be found. 

I’m not sure what it means, but I think all the other mutants were murdered before the X-Men came to the rescue. Scott said he didn’t find any other survivors but Logan, me, and Kurt, a blue teleporter. Faye had told me the first day of my captivity that I had to stay useful otherwise Stryker would kill me. I guess the others weren’t useful anymore; Stryker had their DNA. 

I’m trying to ignore the possibility Logan might be the one who killed them all. I always thought I *knew* him. I thought I had nothing to fear because I knew him in my head. Now I know I have nothing to fear from *Logan* alright, but the blood-hungry beast inside of him is a whole different story. Even Logan fears that part of him, but I only realize that now. I never recognized his fear before. I always thought he needed a good whack over the head to stop being so emo. How terribly naïve. 

So, where does that leave me now? I’ve changed, that’s for sure. I’m not the girl I was before all this, but can I still love Logan? Do I even want to? Can I love him the way I thought I did? Unconditionally, no matter what? Does unconditional love even exist? Don’t we all expect at least *something* from the ones we love? And if we don’t get that something, is it possible that our love will turn into bitterness? Hatred? Resentment even? Am I strong enough to overcome all this and look into the world with a confidence and optimistic trust the way I did a few weeks ago? 

Ugh. My head still feels fuzzy and I need to pee. I feel like crap. I think I’ll just keep my eyes closed and hope it’s all a dream. A goddamn, fucked up dream. Yeah. And when I wake up, I’ll see Logan in our hotel room doing push ups. Then I’ll smile and enjoy the view, and I’ll tease him a little like I always do.

It’ll be just like it was. Before.

* * *

When I wake up later that night, I’m still in a hospital bed. 

I meet golden eyes with a well-known glint of green, and my heart skips a beat before it triples its rhythm. I blink a few times to make sure it’s really Logan and not some hallucination because of all the drugs I’m taking, but yeah, he’s here alright. 

I knew he’d come tonight. I have to act normal. He doesn’t remember those last days and I don’t want him to smell my fear. 

He blankly stares at me, just like I’ve been gazing at him. His hair’s back the way it was, sideburns too. Two layers of shirts and jeans. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him fully clothed. Can’t say that was torture, but it’s nice to see him all Loganish again. He looks like he could use a drink though. Or… make that a whole bottle. 

Crap, he’s making me nervous. What’s he staring at? I need to say something. Break this awkward silence that’s looming over our heads. 

“Welcome back,” I croak out, trying to find a flicker of emotion – any emotion - behind his mask of unresponsiveness. (Where is Hank? Jean? We’re all alone. I can’t panic. I can’t.)

“Who did this?” 

His question catches me off guard. It’s strange to hear his voice again. 

“No one,” I answer defensively.

“Don’t give me crap, kid. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I snap, realizing that even though I was afraid of him for just a teensy weensy moment, I also feel rejected by his cold greeting. 

What did I expect? A hug? A kiss? Him crying at my bed, telling me how worried he was while I was in some sort of a coma? Ha! What a joke. I’m back to “kid” again.

Slowly, Logan’s poker face changes to annoyance. Good, so we’re both pissed. Fuck him. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand lives since we’ve left the Mansion. I’m definitely not a kid anymore.

“They won’t tell me shit,” he hisses. “Don’t you start, too.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe I’d like to hear a ‘Hey Marie, good to see you’re still alive.’ Or a ‘I’m glad you’re awake.’ Even a ‘Hey, want to grab a burger once you’re out of here?’ will do. How about that, you insensitive bastard?”

I go through hell because of you. I deserve more than this. 

It’s time for him to blink in confusion. He stands up, suddenly so very tall I’m instantly anxious and tense, but then he walks a few steps away from me and I pretend to only shift a bit, just in case he saw me bracing myself.

“Shit,” he says quietly, avoiding my stare. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m… sorry.”

It works every time. I can’t stay angry when he’s showing this side of him. I just can’t. Not even now. I hate his power over me. I really do. 

“For what? Being an insensitive bastard? I knew that all along. It’s one of your more charming traits,” I tell him, hoping he’ll lighten up a little. (And show me my Logan is still around. The one I can trust.)

A faint smile replaces his gruff features, and those beautiful eyes seek mine again. Silently, our gazes lock onto each other and all we do is stare, like we’re trying to rediscover our connection. Finding out where we go from here. Are we still the same? Has something changed? Does he know? Does he see, now that he seems to look into my soul? Does he recognize my fear? My pain? My… guilt? (Scents don’t lie.)

Cautiously, he moves closer, almost like he doesn’t want to scare me. He lifts his hand, but stops midair.

“Can I… touch you?”

Huh? Shit. Now what? I don’t know. What do I feel? Am I scared? Do I want him to touch me? I honestly don’t know. I suddenly feel so much I can’t really make out one pure emotion. I can’t show him my doubt though.

“Sure,” I tell him, my voice surprisingly steady. “Hank said I’ll be touchable for quite a while.”

His fingertips carefully touch my cheek and I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I close my eyes and try not to shiver. (But scents don’t lie. Scents never lie.) With his fingers still on my cheek, I feel his thumb stroking my lips. It’s so intimate, I gasp and open my eyes. 

He’s scanning me, a warm hand still cupping my face. “Who did this to you, Marie?” he asks in a low, calm voice, and I swallow hard, suddenly out of breath. 

“Why?”

When his hand leaves my skin, I instantly miss the contact. 

It takes a while before he answers, “I need to know.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking away. “It matters… if it was me.”

Oh god, he knows. He knows! Oh, fuck, now what? Think, damnit, think. Denial. It wasn’t him. It was Wolverine. Not him. It’s the truth. I can’t take it if he knows. Not yet. Deny it. 

“What are you talking about? You’d never hurt me,” I manage to say without a doubt, without a single hint of insecurity. Just like he taught me. Because that’s what I still believe. 

His eyes, so eager to trust my words, scan my sincerity again. I can’t tell him. I really can’t, so I meet his stare, not once flinching, almost daring him to smell a lie on me. (Because scents don’t lie. They never lie.)

“You sure?”

I force a smile on my face. “Of course, stupid. I was there, wasn’t I?”

“You’re scared of me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a man,” I point out rather casually. “I think I’m going to be scared of all men for a while. It’s nothing personal or anything.”

I’m actually impressed by myself. Where the hell did that come from? Oh Logan, you’d be so proud of me if you knew how I’m using all your lessons about bluff. 

“Okay,” he says, and he suddenly looks so much better. Free from a heavy burden. “Want me to leave?”

Do I? No. No, I don’t. I want things to be normal again. We can start today. Right now.

“Of course not.”

A hint of a smile settles on his face. “I’m glad you’re awake, kid. How about a burger once you get out of here?”

I can’t help but grin. “You got yourself a deal, bub.”

* * *

The puzzle is somewhat complete now. 

The last few days I had nothing more to do than listen to my friends and their part in this horrible adventure. They all seemed relieved to talk about it, but I haven’t told them much in return. Luckily they know me, and even though some of them tried to get me to open up, they soon understood I wasn’t going to pour out my heart just that easily. 

It’s strange to see their enthusiasm when they tell their point of view. Like it was all a big play or an adventure. They’re even going to throw us a welcome back-party to celebrate the happy ending, but I think ‘happy’ is a relative term here. I’m still not sure if I’m happy-happy, but I *am* glad to be back home again.

As it turns out, Jubes really didn’t think there was anything wrong when I called her from the hotel. She felt so sorry and apologized for like a thousand times, but I don’t blame her. I should’ve been more specific. I mean, even *I* didn’t think it would become this serious. How the hell could she know?

She told me she called back two days after our conversation, but when my cell phone was switched off, she just assumed my battery ran low or something. It wasn't until the next day, when she called again and still couldn't reach me, that she became a bit worried and mentioned it to Kitty.

They both tried to reach me for the next two days, and then they decided to talk to the Professor. He assumed we were at the compound, but before he could check it out with Cerebro, the Mansion was attacked by Stryker’s men. Stryker knew this location because of Faye’s skills, and even though Charles assured her there is no one to blame but Stryker, she still feels terribly guilty about it. 

All the kids escaped and no one got seriously hurt, thank God, but the Mansion was in chaos and Cerebro was destroyed. It took Jean and Charles three whole days to get Cerebro up and running again. 

Meanwhile, Scott flew up to the hotel where Logan and I stayed that last night, the one I told Jubes about in our phone call. He found out the manager had taken our belongings and had reported us missing to the local authorities. No one really knows why there wasn’t an investigation, but the Professor assumes the cops were corrupt and knew about Styker and his men. 

To cut a very long story short, once the Professor had confirmed our location, Ororo and Scott tried to come up with a plan to get us all out, but it took time to gather all information. It was all a really disastrous coincidence. 

As for Faye, she was indeed needed to transfer thoughts from a new prisoner – turned out to be Kurt, the blue teleporter, and after she had transferred his memories to that creep Dwight, Kurt suddenly seemed more alert and disappeared from right under her nose. According to Faye, that was when hell broke loose. 

Everybody started shouting as Kurt teleported himself through the room, fighting the guards. Faye realized it was her chance to get out. One of the soldiers had pushed her out of his way and she ended up near an exit. Using the chaos in her advance, she simply slipped away and ran through the passageways until she was outside. She found snowmobile with the keys still in the ignition and prayed she'd be out of range before they noticed her gone and powered up her collar.

Fuck advanced escape plans. Just walk out of the place when nobody’s looking. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. 

She made it to a phone booth and called Xavier. That again was a smart thing to do. Scott and Ororo were already around for surveillance and picked her up with the jet. By the time they were at the Mansion again, Faye had told them enough to start the mission. They’d gathered everybody to get us all out, even the younger X-Team. Pretty much every detail was taken care of, but unfortunately they hadn’t counted on Wolverine. 

Once Ororo had taken care of the power and opened our cell, he tried to protect me from her. She had to call Jean to keep him from attacking while she took me to the jet. When Jean’s telekinesis almost couldn’t hold him anymore, Bobby came to the rescue and froze him on the spot. Logan doesn’t remember all this, but I saw Bobby’s smirk when he told me. He never did like Logan. 

Anyway, Logan broke free eventually and a true battle ensued. No one really knew who they were supposed to protect; Logan, the bad guys or themselves because he held himself a slice and dice fest. He even almost gutted Kitty, but she managed to phase herself in time. She’s still very upset about it and told me she felt the blades even in her phased state. She’s been avoiding him ever since. 

Meanwhile, Scott blasted away, but in the end he accidentally blew up a part of the compound that was vital to the dam’s pressure, and they all had to make a run for the Jet. Because no one could stop Logan, Jubilee finally got hold of a tranquilizer gun and sedated him with so many drugs he went out cold. The compound exploded a few seconds after takeoff, and it broke the dam. If there had been any survivors of Wolverine’s personal killing spree, they sure didn’t live long. 

It seemed a successful rescue-operation, but like I said, the only ones rescued were Logan, me and Kurt. The Professor scanned the area but found no one else. I tried to ask Logan about the other mutants, but he told me flat out to drop the subject and left before I could nag some more. It’s damn frustrating to be stuck here. Once I’m out of the lab, I’m going to force him to talk to me. He has to talk to *someone*. The look in his eyes tells me he’s *this* close to giving up self-control again. The beast behind the hazel is still fighting its way to the surface, and, to be honest, it really scares me. Luckily I’m not the only one concerned. Wolverine’s got everybody spooked, and everyone’s keeping an eye on him.

Apparently, it took Logan almost three days to shake off all drugs and regain his sanity after the mission. Until then he was under Xavier's spell, which kept him virtually comatose in a heavily-sealed Danger Room. When he woke up, he couldn’t remember what had happened during his feral state, but at least Stryker didn’t destroy his memories. Still, it’s pissing him off he’s missing a part. When he asked me about it, I told him I don’t remember either because I was sorta out myself. 

Again, it’s the truth. I just left out that he was the cause of my injuries; a concussion, a broken hand, a few bruised ribs and a bite-mark. Everybody thinks one of the guards raped me when I became touchable, and it’s fine by me. I managed to avoid all personal questions quite successfully so far, even Logan’s. Because despite his aversion to the lab he visits me every night. 

He sometimes brings Faye, but mostly he sneaks in alone and spends the night in a chair next to my bed, much to Jean’s chagrin. She wants him to get some real sleep and tells him to eat more, but he ignores every reprimand. He’s still wrecked though. I don’t know how much longer he can walk around like half a zombie. He never was a people person, but he’s seriously withdrawn now. He even snarled ‘Fuck off’ to Jean when she wanted to massage his shoulders, which, okay, I could only enjoy, but Jean used to have lots of credit and now he’s keeping her at arm’s length. Or anyone else for that matter, except for Faye and me. 

I’m worried. I really am. 

Of course, the big lug himself says he’s fine. Hell, that’s our nightly ritual; I wake up, he’s here, I say, ‘Hey’ and he says, ‘Hey,’ too. Then I ask, ‘You okay?’ and he grunts, ‘Fine’. He returns the question, and I answer the same. 

We’re both lying and we both know it, but neither of us seems to be willing to break the ritual. 

I guess this isn’t the time to speak what’s on our minds, and so sometimes I go back to sleep, sometimes we talk about nothing in particular.

Yep, we got dodging the bullet down to an art form by now.


	25. Chapter 25

I wish I could get out of this damn lab and participate in real life again. I’m sick of doing nothing down here. I got people visiting every time, but I’m tired of their curious eyes and unspoken questions. I’m about to get just as edgy as Logan.

Speaking of which, there he is.

“Fucking assholes,” he mutters, sitting down on the usual spot right next to my bed.

Well, are we the cheeriest tonight. 

“Good evening to you too,” I greet back. “What got your boxers in a twist?”

“Nothing. How’re you doing?”

Yep, Same ol’, same ol’.

“Fine. Cast is itching.”

His eyes focus on my arm and asks way too casually, “What happened?”

He’s referring to what caused the break, but that’s definitely *not* a good subject right now.

“Right uppercut.”

“Must’ve been a hell of a punch,” he ponders out loud, one eyebrow arched. 

Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a chit chat? What’s he up to?

“It was.”

“Thick skull?”

Fuck. I knew it. I *knew* he was interrogating me.

“Probably. Wrong angle too. You know, you even warned me not to hit like that once.”

I’m not sure if he’s buying my crap. His eyes dart from my face to my cast arm and back again, but then he looks away and I can’t help but feel he cut me off the hook here. 

Damnit. Is he remembering things? Or maybe… did they tell him about the bite-mark? Is that something he’d trace back to himself?

He leans forward, one arm on his knee, and he absently rubs his forehead while I watch him. He really should get some sleep. Maybe I can convince him to join me here. I’m sure the bed is big enough. Maybe he’ll fall asleep so he can’t get on my nerves. 

“When’s the last time you slept more than an hour?” I ask, and he shrugs one shoulder, his head hanging tiredly. 

“Don’t know. Yesterday. I think.”

“You *think*?”

He leans back in the chair, bloodshot eyes clenched shut and both hands messing up his characteristic hairstyle. “Could be the day before that. Fuck it. Sleep’s overrated.”

“Okay, bub. Lose the boots and come here,” I order, surprising myself as I tap the bed. Do I really want him to be this close? (Yes, scents don’t lie.)

“What?” 

“You heard me. I’m a damsel in distress. I need a hero to hold me. Come on, jump in.”

“Look, kid, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re hurt--”

“Oh, shut up. I can use myself an extra pillow.”

That makes him grin. I knew it. Admitting defeat, he kicks off his boots and I carefully move over. 

Oww, shitty ribs. Damn you, Logan. Why do you have to be so heavy? You always leave your women bruised like this?

Shit, where did that thought came from? I don’t want to think about that. Not now, when my perpetrator is climbing into bed with me. Concentrate on something else, damnit. Faye and Hank. Yeah, that’s news. Safe news. 

“Did you hear the latest gossip about Faye and Hank?” 

While he carefully sits down on my hospital bed, trying not to touch me, he answers, “I’m not exactly in the gossip circuit, darlin’.”

I quietly whimper in pain as I try to make myself comfortable on the small strip of the bed that’s left, and Logan narrows his eyes, scooting over and gently pulling me close. My head ends up on his shoulder, and for a single moment I feel the by now familiar fright bubbling up again. It disappears just a fast. It sneaks up on me during the weirdest moments. I hate it. 

Trying to remember what the hell I was rambling about, I ask, “So… what was I saying again?”

“Tinkers and Hank,” he replies, watching me cautiously. “You okay?”

No. No, I’m not okay. I’m desperately trying to forget that you violently took my virginity in a clammy, cold cell, but don’t worry, I’ll be over it soon enough. 

“Yeah, just a little bruised. You know.” 

I don’t know how long I can keep up this façade. I feel like it’s suffocating me. 

“I hate to see you like this,” he quietly says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I’ve stopped counting the lies by now. Sometimes I wonder who I’m trying to convince here, me or him. (But scents don’t lie.)

“I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess.”

Oh, he’s in his ‘I’m sorry for existing’ mode again. 

“Stop acting emo and cheer me up. I’m entitled to feel sorry for myself tonight, not you.”

“I would’ve healed you if I could.” 

One hand caressing my good arm. I’m seriously trying to keep my cool here. I don’t know whether to lean into his touch or to cringe away. (You want it. Scents don’t lie.) It’s really creepy to feel this conflicted. Why the hell don’t I know how to react normally?

“I know,” I tell him. “But Hank says it’s just temporarily. My cells are renewing themselves. It could take years though.”

“That sucks.” 

I don’t really know what he means, but I agree. “Yeah, I got what I wanted (yes, you did), but knowing that maybe one day I'll carelessly touch someone and kill them makes it really fucked up, you know? I don’t want to get used to something I’m going to lose again.”

“Can’t you just enjoy the moment? Carpe diem and shit?” 

It’s a good question. One he clearly doesn’t believe in himself because he mutters, “Fucking optimists,” and it would’ve been funny if we weren’t so fucked up.

“I don’t know. I doubt I can enjoy anything right now.”

“Same road I’m on, darlin’.”

A depressed silence falls in, ripping away our perfect make-believe world. We’re so very not okay. We’re on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but we try to be oblivious to it so maybe it’ll quietly pass us by. We’re two of a kind, Logan and I, and our coping mechanism clearly isn’t a healthy one. 

I’m still lost in thought when Logan expectantly picks up our small talk. 

“So, what’s with Hank and Tinkers?” 

I really appreciate the attempt.

“Oh, right. Hank asked her out on a date. She said ‘yes’. Isn’t that cute?”

“Charming.”

I smile at his sarcasm and try to loosen up a little. I want to feel careless. Be the silly girl with a crush. I know I can’t force anything, but I long for those days again. My muscles seem to have a life of their own when he’s around. I always tense up. It’s exhausting. 

And I wish he’d stop touching my arm like that. (Because you like it, don’t you? Scents don’t lie.)

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think… do you think we can get over all this?”

He doesn’t answer, and suddenly my chest hurts. Not because of my ribs this time, but from restraining the urge to cry. But… fuck it all. I’ve been brave enough, haven’t I? I can cry when I feel like it. And so I will.

My vision becomes blurry, and quietly sniffling, I burry my face in the flannel of his shirt. He lets me, caressing my hair, and I’m so glad I can let go a little, I even start to talk. 

“I don’t think I like the new me. I also don’t like this new reality. Why can’t we back up our pure personalities and just overwrite ourselves after someone or something managed to fuck us up?”

Crap, I sometimes blurt out the strangest things. 

“I don’t know,” he says, warm lips against my forehead. “But it sounds good.”

“It’s not fair,” I whine, but I’m also very aware of his touch against my skin. (Of course. Scents don’t lie.)

I love him so very much. 

The feeling strikes me like a slap in the face, but it’s true. He may have hurt me, he may crush my heart over and over again, but something inside of me says that I can’t let him go. I need to hold on, because when I give up on what we have, I’m giving up on myself. My beliefs, my hopes, my inner child - the purest *me*. 

I’m not gone, I’m just a little lost.

Determined to find my way back again, I crawl into his arms to intensify the contact, bruised ribs be damned. He shifts a bit, and even though there’s a blanket between us (for how long this time?) I still fit perfectly against him. 

We don’t say anything. Our breathing is the only sound in the lab. I feel so much better now that I’ve released some of the gnawing pain that was trying to swallow me. I know who I am again. I’m the one who loves him, unconditionally. Just like I told him the night before we were captured. I just have to get rid of this nasty fear. That means we’ve got to get back to our daily futilities.

“You know what?” I ask with renewed energy, wiping away the wet trails of tears the best I can with a cast on my hand. “How about you get me a peanut butter sandwich?”

He peers down on me sheepishly. “You serious?”

“Yup, dealing with emotions is hard work. I’m starved.”

Frowning in confusion, he mutters, “Do I look like fucking room service to you?”

I grin, feeling the playful mood I’d always felt before - before. 

“Sugar, you look so damn sexy that if you don’t want me to bite *you*, I suggest you get me that sandwich, pronto.”

For a moment he gapes at me in disbelief, but then he smirks mischievously. “Where’d you start?”

Oh, shit. I forgot he’s way better in this game than I am. Shit, shit, shit. 

But... where *would* I start? His lips? Oh, how I like to nibble on those. Was it him who provided me water? I still remember clearly how they felt; soft and warm and moist and - no. Those thoughts aren’t doing me any good. So… his neck then? It’ll be the ultimate gesture of surrender if he’d let me. It would only be fair. I’ve got his mark too. (And you like that, don’t you?)

He clears his throat audibly, making me snap out of my fantasy. I’m both pleased and painfully aware that I’m behaving like a smitten schoolgirl again.

According to his self-satisfied smirk, he’s knows it too. 

I back away to hide both the amusement and the blush. “Oh, you arrogant, conceited buffoon. You so wish that I’d bite you. Well, you know what? I prefer that peanut butter sandwich.” I stick my nose in the air, not even tossing him a sideways glance, and God, it feels good to be a dork again. 

“Oh, really?” he asks, teasing right back. “Your loss, kid. One peanut butter sandwich coming right up.”

He jumps out of bed and, without bothering to put his boots back on, he swaggers his way to the door, probably knowing that I stare at his ass.

Damn that man. 

I just *got* to love him.

* * *

Oh, how I’ve missed the simple things of life. Food, a bath, privacy. 

I’m finally back in my room again. I’m sharing it with my former cell mate, but that’s not a burden at all. The professor though it might be a good idea if Faye and I stay together for a while. It might help us in our accepting-process. With Logan’s room on the right and Jubes and Kitty on the left, I can say that I’m pretty much surrounded by my best friends.

Logan, Faye and I have a weird sort of friendship triangle. Whenever one of us has a nightmare or feels miserable for whatever reason, the other two are always there to comfort and to listen. Well, okay, in Logan’s case we just ask if he’s okay and he always grunts that he’s fine. Mostly we just go back to our own room and try to get to sleep while we hear him pacing in the room next to us, but we’ve also dragged him and his stuff into our room twice by now, ordering him to stay.

I told Faye not to wake him up when he’s dreaming if she doesn’t want to end up with six extra piercings, but I think he always stays awake and simply watches over un instead. Jubes told me there’s gossip about him sleeping in our room, but even the Professor is okay with it so I just try to ignore the rest. 

Right now, I’m all comfy in my own bed, not fully recovered from my injuries but strong enough to somewhat play along in the Mansion’s social life again. I was watching TV while Faye took a shower. It’s her big date with Hank tonight. I can’t stop smiling.

“Okay, babe. What do you think? Black or pink?” She comes out of the bathroom, holding two dresses in front of her. 

“Hmm,” I tilt my head and contemplate the dilemma. “Tough one. They’re both very classy. What’s the look you’re going for?”

“I’m digging you, but you’re not going to get lucky tonight.”

“Pink. The black one’s more sexy.”

“Thanks.” She smiles and carelessly throws the back dress on her bed before disappearing into the bathroom again. When she comes out for the second time, she looks absolutely stunning.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” I tell her. “I wish I could get all dressed up and go out. I’ve never even been on a date.”

“So, why don’t you?”

“I don’t know. Someone has to ask me,” I tell her, feeling a bit weird. I mean, hello! This is the twenty-first century, right? I don’t have to sit back and wait for it to happen. I can perfectly ask a guy out myself. 

Truth is, I don’t want to date anyone but Logan, and *he* sure as hell will never ask me. We used to go out often enough, but it was never a date.

“Bobby likes you,” Faye points out. “Ask him.”

Bobby. Yeah. Maybe I should give it a try. Maybe Logan will even become a little jealous. It’s worth a shot. (It’s pathetic.)

“Hmm, I might do that. But you know, he’s such a *boy*.”

“Well, you can always ask Charles.” 

Her smirk makes me laugh. “Never mind. You just have a good time, okay? I can handle my dates myself.”

As she picks up the little, elegant purse matching her outfit, she compliments, “You know, I really like that new haircut.” 

‘Ro cut me a chin-length bob, and on impulse my hand darts up to my neck. I guess it looks nice, but I still miss my long hair. It had to be done though. It looked way too thin to keep it that long. 

“Really?” I ask, not entirely sure of it myself.

“Yeah. Makes you more… mature.”

Funny she should mention that. Logan had said exactly the same thing when I asked what he thought of it. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I tell her, not really sure if it is or not. I mean, they might as well be telling me I look like damaged goods.

“You should.” My roomie takes a good look around to see if she hasn’t forgotten anything and then walks up to the door. Just when her hand grabs the doorknob, she suddenly freezes. “It was Logan, wasn’t it?”

I feel like all the wind is knocked out of me.

“What?” is all I can say, being caught totally off guard as I dumbly stare at her back.

She turns around and leans against the door. Her face is serious, almost expressionless. I look for hints of nosiness or compassion or even pity, but all I see is thoughtfulness. Like she’s trying to understand something and it hasn’t really clicked yet. 

“It was Logan,” she says again, now without a single doubt, and of course I want to protest and deny, but when I open my mouth, I’m surprised by my own response. 

“How did you know?”

She frowns. “They never touched me. They were scared to death of my mutation and disgusted by mutants in general. I’ve been touchable all along and they never tried anything. They feared you even more. It *had* to be Logan. Or rather… Wolverine.” 

“Yeah,” is all I say and we stare at each other, both trying to comprehend the moment that’s passing by. Faye finally breaks the silence.

“Does he know?”

“God, no.”

“Are you going to tell him?” 

I shrug clumsily, not trusting my voice to say anything. 

“He has a right to know,” she says, and she’s right, but I’m not ready to admit that. 

“I’ll tell him when I’m ready.”

“Okay.”

I look up and expect judgmental eyes, but those bright, emerald-green beauties tell me that she understands. 

“Okay,” I echo, feeling a real smile creeping up. “Now, beat it, sugar. You have a very cute dating waiting.”

She smiles back and while she opens the door. “I’ll be fashionably late.” 

Just before she disappears into the hallway, she peers around the corner of the woodwork. “You can work it out, I’m sure. Just… just be honest.” 

Then the door closes and I’m left by my own thoughts. 

Yeah, that’s easier said than done.


	26. Chapter 26

I just had a visit from the Professor again. He tries to talk to me at least once a day and it’s really crappy to hide secrets from the world’s most powerful telepath. He says he doesn’t peek into my head, but I don’t believe him. He’s too much of a nosy geezer to stay out of my mess. Still, I got him by the balls. He can’t mention any of my crap without breaking his own rule about ethics and he knows it. That means he can’t say anything to Logan either.

We talked about the mansion’s attack and the effect on the children. A lot of the younger kids are still scared. They’re having a hard time feeling safe again. He sometimes feels there are more people awake at night than during daytime. I’m sure he was trying to draw a parallel, but I tried to deflect it the best I could. 

He also said he was sorry for not giving me more attention since I got back. I brushed it away by telling him there are a bunch of people who are looking out for me, and the children need him more than I do. That made him ask how I was doing, and, like always, I told him I was sort of okay again. Trying to fit in again and all. 

Of course my answers didn’t really fool him. He wanted to know if I was feeling strong enough to tell anyone about my assault. He suggested I should talk to Jean. Or maybe to Faye, or Jubilee and Kitty. I couldn’t hold back a satisfied smile when I told him I’ve talked to Faye about it. 

Okay, so I didn’t initiate the conversation, but we *did* talk, right? And later that night we talked about it some more. I’ve shared the basics (cowardly skipping your own share), and I have to admit, it was really nice to get some of it off my chest. The professor seemed satisfied with it. We talked about the mansion some more, and then he left without further prodding. 

Now, I only have Faye to deal with. 

She insists I should tell Logan soon. She doesn’t want to be a part of a secret this big, especially since she cares for him as well. She also wants to talks to Hank about it. She had to bite her tongue that entire night she went out with him. It’s hopeless to build a relationship on secrets, she told me. That goes for her and Hank, but also for Logan and me. She’s convinced Logan and I can work it out, but I’m not so sure. I don’t know if Logan can handle it. I’m pretty sure he’s going to run off, and I don’t think he’ll ever come back. I’m not ready to let him go. I don’t think I’ll ever be.

* * *

“Damn that shoe!” Faye curses, bending over on all fours and looking under her bed. “I promised Hank to meet him at eight!”

She’s going out on a date again. Limping, she’s searching the room for the other shoe while I’m trying different shades of makeup to see what matches my outfit best for tomorrow’s party. 

“Try behind the curtain,” I suggest, wiping away smudged lipstick from my cheek. Crap, I look like a skinny crack whore at the end of her shift. (Blowjob for a ride. You’re so cheap.) 

“Got it! Thanks, babe!” my roommate squeals cheerfully, squeezing her foot into the delicate high heel. She looks beautiful. And I… I just look plain weird. (Slutty.)

I’m wearing a red, full-length halter dress. It looked great at first, but now… now I just feel uncomfortable. The girl in the mirror doesn’t look like me. (Yes, she does.) The dress is elegant though. Made of silk crepe with a low plunging neck, an exposed back, and a mermaid hemline. It’s just… that’s a lot of skin all of a sudden. 

I tug at the fabric and fumble with my scarf. I really feel stupid. Dressed up in my mother’s clothes, somehow. Not that she would wear anything like this, but still. I don’t feel pretty. I feel uncomfortable and tired. The cast doesn’t look all too glamorous either. 

“Oh, my god,” Faye gasps, “Look at you. You’re so gorgeous!”

She walks up behind me and looks into the mirror.

“You think so?” I ask her, scowling at my reflection. “I think I look skanky.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” I growl and eye my cleavage. “I can’t wear this. This isn’t me.”

I turn around, throw the scarf on my bed, and kick off the heels. 

“Oh, come on,” my roommate tries to persuade me. “I’m sure Logan will think you’re beautiful, too.” 

“I’m not wearing this for Logan. I’m wearing it for *me*. And you’re late. Go get your man before he thinks you stood him up.”

She sighs but listens for a change. 

“Don’t wait up, okay? And goddamn you, girl, *tell* him,” she mutters while she runs off, leaving me alone in my stupid outfit. 

Tell Logan. Yeah, right. How the hell am I going to bring this up tactfully? Hey, Logan, guess what? You wanted to know who raped me, right? Well, you see, it was you, but not really you, more like that berserker side of you, which I sort of tried to seduce at first but then I got cold feet. You went for a cuddle anyway, and so we ended up mating like animals on the floor in our cell. Don’t worry about it though. I know you didn’t really mean for it to happen, and I’m almost over it anyway. (Got what you wanted.)

I mean… it’s all too fucked up, right? And it’s all my fault. I’ve made so many mistakes; wanting to go to Alkali Lake, going after him and ignoring specific instructions, and then I touched him like I did… (Exactly. Scents don’t lie.) 

No. I have to stop thinking about it. It’s just too much. I need to concentrate on something else. What was I doing? Oh, right. Clothes. I’m not going to wear this dress, but the professor wanted us to go semi-formal. I guess I have to find something else.

* * *

I’ve found my outfit. Black slacks and a black top with a low back. Simple, nice and dark. I can run with it if I need to, I can hide in de shadows, and it’s still formal enough to fit the dress code. 

Something tells me it’s not very healthy to pick clothes in terms of comfort and practicalities in case of an emergency and survival, but I shove those thoughts in the back of my mind and just be done with it. 

I wonder what Logan’s going to wear. I guess he can’t show up in jeans and flannel. If he shows up at all. He never mentioned the party, now that I think of it. I think I’m going to pay my buddy a visit and find out. 

I change back into my PJ’s and knock on the door. I thought he heard him come in half an hour ago, but he doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s in the shower?

When I peek into his room, I find him fully-clothed sleeping on top of the blankets. Guess he was exhausted enough to finally crash down tonight. 

Aww, he looks so different when he’s asleep. I know I should be leaving, but it’s so nice to just watch him for a moment and not worry about scents and lies and everything else that might give me away. I can finally relax a little. (You want to touch him again, don’t you?)

This is Logan. My friend. The man I know. It’s hard to believe he has this other creature deep inside of him when I see him like this. With his usual scowl gone, he looks so much more at ease. There is no trace of the blood-hungry beast, but I know it’s there. Lurking in the shadows of Logan’s dark side. 

Am I fooling myself by separating Logan from Wolverine? Isn’t Wolverine a part of Logan? Or maybe even the other way around? Is it some weird Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde thing? Logan and Wolverine. They seem two different characters to me. Then again, maybe I’m the only one who sees the difference. Maybe I’m the only one who sees the real Logan. After all, he said I’m his peace. I think I understand now. My presence usually doesn’t seem to feed Wolverine’s anger. It makes it all too ironic he attacked *me* when he had the chance. The one who usually chases him away. Maybe it was his revenge. (You wanted it.)

Or maybe not. I’m not making sense here. I should leave. 

But I don’t want to. (Touch him. Scents don’t lie.)

You know what? I think I’ll join him and lie down for a moment. I don’t want to be alone, and maybe my presence will keep the nightmares at bay. I am his peace, after all.

* * *

“No! No!” Logan shouts, and I instantly brace myself for whatever’s going to happen.

A nightmare. Is he awake? Yeah. I think he just woke up. 

I force my muscles to unclench and sit up to reach out to him. “Logan, it’s okay. Just a dream.”

The moment he hears my voice he almost jumps out of his skin and scrambles to the other side of the room. 

Jesus, must have been a bad one. He looks pretty spooked. 

“Logan?” I try to adjust my eyes to the dark and see him backed up against a wall, watching me in utter shock.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, panting, “I didn’t… I’m not… oh, Jesus.”

Fuck. This doesn’t sound good. Am I in trouble? Was he dreaming about me? About what happened? I really have to stay calm right now. 

“What are you talking about, sugar? It was just a dream.”

His eyes scan over my body, then over his own, and I see shock changing into confusion. He’s slowly getting himself together though. Thank God. 

“I didn’t… you’re okay, right?” he asks, and I smile as reassuringly as possible.

“Yeah, I’m fine. See?” I turn on the light next to his bed and spread my arms to show him that he didn’t stab me, gut me, cut me into pieces – or maybe even worse. “Not a mark.” 

He closes his eyes and sinks down against the wall. “Jesus Christ, of all the fucked up dreams I have…” He stops and scrubs his hands over his face, stripped of all his usual calm. 

I don’t think this is a good sign. Nope, I’m in trouble. I bet he’s remembering the things I’m desperately trying to forget. I really have to play this right. (He’ll be so mad at you. Scents don’t lie.)

While I’m mulling whether I should walk up to him or stay here, he suddenly looks up, the trademark scowl back in its rightful place. “Do you have a death wish, goddamnit? What are you doing here?”

Okay, I can handle a pissed-off Logan. I’m an expert by now. 

“I wanted to know if you’re going to the party tomorrow. I saw you sleeping and I thought I could use a nap myself. You looked comfy, so I snuggled up.” I smile my innocent smile. My ‘come on, sugar. You can’t stay angry with me’ smile. “So, care to share what you were dreaming about?”

He sighs, stands up again and stretches his back. “No.” Without meeting my eyes, he walks over the bathroom. 

I hear water running and splashing, and I wonder what to do now. What would I have done before this mess? I think… I probably would’ve stayed and tried to make him talk. Or just ramble on myself and hope he’d feel better eventually. I guess that means I should stay now as well. 

He comes back into the room, and for a moment he seems a little unsure what to do next. Then he sits down on the other side of his bed and sighs.

The other side of the bed. As in, as far away as possible. This really isn’t going well. I have to do something. If he’s dreamt about… what happened between us, I need to show I’m not scared of him. Which I’m not. Honestly, I’m not. Not really. Not always. Not even a lot. Just, you know, sometimes. 

I shuffle on my knees until I’m behind him and rest my face on his shoulder. I give him a hug, but I can feel him stiffen and that’s just great. He never flinched when I could kill him with a brush of skin, and *now* he’s freaked by my touch. Yeah, not good. Definitely not good. (He knows. He so knows.) 

“What’re you doing?” he asks calmly, but I can feel a speeding heartbeat under my palm. 

“You look like you could use a hug,” I mumble against his neck, noticing a shiver running through him. Is that good or bad? I don’t know, but he’s so warm and his hair smells really nice. (You want him.) Would it be weird if I nuzzle it? 

He doesn’t say anything. He’s more or less frozen in my embrace. Am I making him uncomfortable? Or is he trying not to scare *me*? I force myself to relax and lean even heavier against his back. I don’t have a care in the world, after all. Everything’s fine and dandy.

“So,” I try to get our conversation going again, “are you going to tomorrow’s party?”

“Chuck expects me to.” 

“What are you going to wear?”

“Why?”

I shift a bit and let my hands roam free, hoping those touches seem casual and absentminded. The one with the cast ends up on his thigh, the other is going to draw circles on his back. Lazily and spontaneous. Because I’m so not aware of what I’m doing. (Liar.)

Keeping my tone light, I say, “You can’t show up in your usual outfit. I usually dig those jeans, but it’s sort of formal, remember?”

“‘Ro bought me something.”

That makes me smile. ‘Ro always thinks of those things, not to mention she has great taste. I wonder what she has in mind for this perfect piece of hunkiness in my arms. 

“What?” 

“Don’t know. It’s over there,” he says tiredly, jerking his head in the direction of his closet. 

As much as I like touching him like this – I feel like I’m in control now that I’m behind him – I’m also very curious. I just have to see what he’s going to wear. 

I jump up and take a look.

Oh my. Black pants, black dress shirt, black leather belt with a very modest buckle. Yep, dark hipness to the max. I whistle in appreciation. “Armani. Bet it looks stunning, sugar.”

“Whatever,” Mr. Indifference grunts. 

He never cared for clothes, why start now?

While I caress the fabric of the shirt, I feel his eyes on me. I look up and catch him staring. 

“Why didn’t I protect you?” he asks, and I instantly know where he’s going. Still, I need to buy time. (Don’t bother. He knows.)

“What do you mean?”

“Jeannie told me I almost killed them all in order to protect you. Why didn’t I sooner?”

Think, damnit. Think of something. Anything. But whatever it is, I have to stay close to the truth. 

Pretending to straighten out the clothes, I say, “Because you weren’t there.”

He seems to think about that. Good. Maybe he’s cutting me some slack. 

“Did… he… hurt you? Besides the obvious injuries.”

I heard that pause. Shit, or was it my imagination? Does he know? Are we playing a game now? Because if we are, I’m destined to lose. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him truthfully, suddenly feeling the need to refold a shirt.

“You have to, sooner or later.”

“I know. Just not… now.”

“You mean not with me?”

Showing him I’m fed up with this conversation, I bravely meet his eyes and say, “No, I mean not now.”

He pauses for a few moments, but then he quietly says, “He hurt you a lot, didn’t he?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. Damnit. Where does that come from? I’m not going to fall apart in this room, in his presence. I’m not. I can do this. I can summon the strength to face him and talk about it superficially. 

“Yeah,” I give in, still keeping our eyes locked. “Yeah, it was… I was… yeah, it hurt a lot. I’m fine now though, and according to Jean there’s no permanent damage… you know… well, not physically, anyway.”

I can’t believe I said that. Jesus, this is embarrassing. 

He’s the first one to look away, and I turn around to get myself together again. I close the closet door and take a gulp of air. I’m fine. I just have to remember that I need oxygen. Keep on breathing, and I’ll be fine. 

I hear him move, and when I curiously turn around to see what he’s up to, he’s coming my way with an unreadable expression on his face. He leans against the closet, slowly reaches out to one of my sleeves, and then he gently pulls me close to him. I’m not really sure if I’m okay with this, but I let him, knowing he’ll be suspicious if I freak out. 

One arm wraps around my waist and the other hand cups the back of my head. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, and my heart instantly starts fluttering in my chest because oh my God oh my God! But then he lifts his head and I’m tucked under his chin, his body just slightly in contact with mine. (Disappointed much?)

Somewhat confused by this sudden tender gesture, I hear myself repeating his earlier words, “What are you doing?”

He uses my answer as a payback. “You look like you could use a hug.”

I smile and somehow everything is fine again. I drape my arms around him and listen to the now steady rhythm of his heart. I want him to be this close and yet, sometimes, he scares the hell out of me. What am I going to do? Is it just a matter of time? Can I keep this up? I guess I have to.

“So,” I mumble against his shirt, “about the party. I suggest we get drunk. You can’t heal me now, but I bet Armani still looks great with puke on it.”

“I doubt Scooter lets you drink,” he answers.

“Fuck Scooter.” 

He chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

* * *

“Rogue? Can I come in?”

Scott.

“Sure,” I call from the bathroom. I was just making preparations for a bath. 

Ruby glasses peek from behind the door into my room before he steps in. He’s such a gentleman.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. “How are you today?”

There hasn't been a day where he doesn't check up on me. His visits always cheer me up. He tells me about daily things and never asks me about what happened, knowing I don't want to talk about it.

“Fine, thanks. I want to take a bath, but, you know, I have to cover the cast first. Here, pull,” I order him, sticking out my arm so he can hold my sleeve as I shake off the rest of my blouse. I’m wearing a tank top underneath, but I’m still a bit freaked about my skin when others are around. 

I don’t think Scott is scared though. He seems relaxed as our fingers accidentally touch when I hand him the plastic and tape. 

“So, what’s up?” I ask while he's wrapping my cast.

“Jean asked me to give you something. It’s a book,” he jerks his head to my bed and I turn around to read the title, ‘Picking Up The Pieces.’

“Ugh,” I moan. “More self-therapy?”

“Yeah, well. Read it, okay? She says it’s good. Okay, done.” He looks at the now wrapped cast and then at the bathroom. “Need a hand? Want me to get someone?”

“No, I can handle it.”

“Okay.” There’s a bit of an awkward pause. “We’re not all creeps, you know,” he suddenly says, a worried expression matching his concern. “Us men, I mean. We’re not all the same.”

“I know,” I tell him, taken aback by the unexpected outburst. “You’d never hurt me – or any other girl for that matter. I trust you.”

His handsome face changes from concern into relief. “Good. Thanks.”

“No, thank *you* for being such a good friend.” I smile and give him a little hug. “Now, you go tell Jean that I’m going to read that book tomorrow. First, I have to get ready for my welcome home party.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah. Hey, Scott?”

He turns around in my doorway. 

“Thanks.”

A boyish smile appears on his face. 

“You’re welcome.”


	27. Chapter 27

Party time. 

Faye told me I can’t wear a bra underneath the top because of the low cut back, so she gave me a pair of those self-stick thingies. Feels kinda weird, but at least my boobs stay in place. I wasn’t planning to go dancing anyway.

I’m almost done with my makeup when I hear a knock on the door. Faye yells, “You’re only allowed to come in if you’re goddamn sexy and sweep us off our feet!” 

I giggle and wonder who’s brave enough to enter now. 

Apparently no one, because Logan's asking, “How about dark and dangerous?”

“Oh, yeah, handsome, come in and ravish me!” my roomie answers, grinning widely, but then her mischievousness quickly disappears and, startled by her own words, she looks at me. “Oh,” she whispers, “Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“Shut up,” I hiss and point at my ear to indicate Logan can hear us. 

Mr. ‘Dark and Dangerous’ walks into our room, and I gasp audibly. Oh my goodness, he looks so sexy. He should’ve warned me. Now I’m staring like some idiot, probably drooling over my new top. “Damn, you look good,” I accidentally blurt out, and he seems even more surprised than I am by my remark. 

He looks down for moment, shuffling his feet. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he looks slightly embarrassed. He quickly recovers from my frank statement though. 

“Like, ‘I want to bite you’ good?” he asks, smirking, and I’m really grateful for playing this game again. 

“More like, ‘I want to bite, lick *and* nibble you’ good.”

He arches an eyebrow, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. For a while now.” I even wiggle my eyebrows for good measure. 

It makes him grin and my stomach instantly flips. “You look… good too” he compliments in all honesty. “Beautiful.”

I smile while my stomach does another flip. “Like, ‘I want to bite you’ beautiful?”

He doesn’t smile back. 

Oh. 

Uh oh. 

Does he remember biting me? Has he seen the mark while I was in the lab? Did Jean tell him?

“Hey,” Faye thankfully interrupts the very awkward moment, “how about me?”

Logan turns around. “You look great, Tinkers. For an elf.”

She laughs and walks up to him to good-humoredly punch him in his stomach. “You’re just jealous I fell head over heels for blue fur.”

Logan plays along and pretends to collapse, “Ouch. That obvious huh?”

I’m so grateful the weirdness is over, I force a smile on my face and drag both friends out of the room. “Come on, you kids. Let’s hope Chuck doesn’t get all too carried away with his speeches. My stomach is howling like a banshee.”

* * *

Two and a half hours later I’m bored out of my mind and whining for some more champagne. The entire school had a little glass to celebrate the happy ending, but it wasn’t enough to get me drunk and I’m not allowed to drink more. Everybody is dancing and having a good time, but I still feel my ribs and the stupid nude-bra doesn’t feel comfortable at all. God, I’ll die if I lose a silicone cup on the dance floor. 

“Tasted like horse piss,” Logan answers, looking out over the dancing crowd from his dark corner. He's leaning against the temporary bar, holding a beer. I’ve lost count by now. He’s been drinking a lot.

“So what?” I grunt. “I want to pretend I’m a normal girl leading a normal life, and I’m on a normal date with a normal guy. If I have to drink horse piss-tasting champagne to give the fantasy some reality, well, damnit, so be it.”

I’m fed up with this party, my creepy bra, and all the looks everybody is giving me. I’ve been trying to ignore them but I can’t any longer. They’re watching me, trying to figure out what has actually happened. (They know.) I hate it. I really do. I even hate Logan right now. Just because I can. And why is he looking all strange at me like that?

“What?” I demand to know, planting my hands on my hips, cursing the white cast which doesn’t match my black outfit. 

“Nothing,” the bastard answers with a faint smile, pissing me off even more. 

“No, seriously, what?”

He sighs, reaches out to grab my left hand and gently pulls me in front of him again, just like yesterday. I still think it’s creepy to be touched skin to skin. Not just by him, but in general. When will my skin flip back on? Isn’t he aware of the danger?

“You’re too special to be normal, kid,” he tells me, and he looks at me like he’s saying something *very* important. 

Well, that’s unexpected. What is this all about? It’s definitely sweet of him, but what’s he up to? I watch him suspiciously, but then I realize it’s that caring look he used to show me when we’re alone. The one I missed so much while we were captured.

Sighing, I step between his feet and lean into him. “When are you going to ask me to dance?” 

I try real hard to ignore one of his hands hesitantly moving over my bare back. 

“I don’t dance,” he says, but those warm fingers seem to dance over my skin in a feather light caress instead. 

A shiver runs through me, and I struggle for breath. I thought my back wasn’t an erotic zone. I know better now. (You want it.) Suddenly, I feel too damn vulnerable. 

“Bummer,” I mumble and close my eyes, shutting out everything and everyone around us. Especially Jean, who’s been watching my every move with a concerned frown. I hope she isn’t jealous. She’s got her own man, damnit. This one’s mine. (Yes.) He just needs some incentive, and I need more time. I guess we can meet somewhere in the middle and everything will be okay.

I focus on his heartbeat. It’s usually soothing, but I don’t think I’m feeling very well all of a sudden. The music’s so loud, and is it warm in here or what? Why is it so hard to breathe? 

I turn around in his embrace and instantly realize my mistake; he’s behind me again. I’m not wearing enough clothes and no one will hear me in this corner and no, I don’t want this. I really don’t want this. (Yes, you do!)

My heart starts racing, my chest tightens, and I want to step away but my legs turn into jelly while I gasp for air. Logan’s arms tighten around me. I think he’s calling for Jean but I’m not entirely sure. All the noises seem so far away and yet, they seem to swallow me whole. 

Let me go. I don’t want this. I don’t… want… this…

* * *

I fainted. Ugh. I fainted in front of the entire school. That’s so pathetic.

The morning after my embarrassing display of weakness, I sit on the edge of the bed and tiredly rub my hands over my face. I’m glad Jean let me out of the lab so I could sleep in my own room instead of downstairs. She said I was fine. It was just had a panic attack. Apparently it’s quite normal after everything I’ve been through. Of course, I know it was mostly because of Logan. His closeness, his hands - I don’t think I can’t handle being around him any longer. I really can’t. 

Who was I kidding? That book Jean gave me about moving on after being sexually abused said that, even though the mind doesn’t remember the abuse – or doesn’t want to remember, the body does. I guess it’s true, but now what? I can’t avoid him. Not here, and certainly not after everything we’ve been through. He’s been my support from the moment I woke up. I can’t tell him out of the blue that I need time to cope with all this and don’t want to see him for a while. 

God, how did I end up in this mess? I think I’ll just stay in bed today, just like Jean told me to.

* * *

What was that? I heard a noise. 

“Logan,” Faye whispers and jumps out of bed with an energy I can only envy after just waking up. 

What time is it? Three a.m.? Jesus, I’ve been more asleep than awake these last few days. I’m so goddamn tired all the time.

I stumble over and see him sitting on his bed, head in his hands. It’s been a while. We haven’t exactly talked about me fainting his arms just yet. I’ve been hiding in my bed ever since. It’s kind of odd to just pretend nothing has happened, but thankfully, Faye’s the one picking him up.

She kneels down in front of him and rubs a hand over his knee. “Hey, handsome. You okay?”

"Yeah," he returns, his voice low and hoarse. "Just an incredible wet dream."

She grins despite her concern. “The one about the terrible threesome again?”

“Of course.”

It makes me smile as well, but there’s also a stab of jealousy. I should be the one comforting him. Instead, I’m cowardly leaning against the doorframe and keeping my distance. 

Faye now gently caresses Logan's hair. “You want to make that threesome reality? Sleep in our room?”

Oh, no. Please, no. 

“No.” He looks at the woman in front of him with a forced smirk on his face. “I’ve had enough for one night. Even with my healing. But… thanks.”

Yes, thank you.

“Okay.” She pushes herself into a standing position and places a quick kiss on the top of his head. “You know where to find us if you change your mind.”

Her emerald-green eyes seek mine when she walks back to our room. I step aside to let her pass in the doorway, and she hisses, “Talk to him,” knowing I’ve been avoiding him for far too long already. 

I wonder if I’m up to it, but then I’ve taken that one necessary step into his room, so I might as well go on with it.

Logan’s on his way to the bathroom and ignores my presence. I trail after him and catch him leaning against the tiled wall, looking quite miserable. His eyes closed, fists clenched, he knows I’m here but we both stay quiet. 

I sit down on the edge of the bathtub.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” he finally ends the silence. 

“How about a friend?” I ask, rubbing my feet over each other in an attempt to keep them warm. 

“I need a shower.” 

He opens the glass door and the urge to flee is almost overwhelming. I’m alone with him in a place with no windows. The fact that I’m only wearing a sleeveless nightgown isn't helping either. 

“Go ahead. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” I say, but I don’t look up while I hear him undress. 

We’re not in the cell. There’s no sign of Wolverine. He’s not going to attack me. (You wanted it.) We’re cool. Everything’s under control. 

While I try to talk some sense into myself and shake off my fear, Logan steps into the shower and ignores me again. I should feel relieved, but for some reason it’s bothering me as well. I’m entitled to ignore him, but it shouldn’t be the other way around. Yes, I’ve been blowing him off every time he’s knocked on my door, but I can’t help but feel bitter now. What if he likes it this way? What if he’s creating distance so he can take off soon? He doesn't seem to need me and - surprise, surprise - it damn well hurts. 

“I know why you’re trying to shut me out,” I tell him more angrily than I wanted to. 

“Then stop wasting your time,” he shoots back. 

“Were you really so much happier without any friends?”

“I was free.” 

I’m about to remind him his promise to me was his own goddamn idea, but then I realize we might not be talking about our friendship at all. Maybe we’re talking about things more important. Things like… making sacrifices. What if we’re talking about the way Stryker used me to control him? About how caring for others always makes him vulnerable? Shit. I might have bitten off more than I can chew. 

Searching for the right path in this suddenly very complicated argument, I try, “You always had a choice, you know,” but even I know it’s bullshit if I’m assuming right. He’s sacrificed his life to save mine even when he didn’t even know me back then. He’d never let them hurt me. 

“You don’t have a fucking clue.”

Yeah, that was to be expected. Still, it’s an opening.

“Okay, so fill me in.”

For a moment all I hear are showering noises, but then he answers resignedly, “You don’t want to know. Trust me on this.” 

I suppress the urge to walk up to him. I want to look into his eyes and know what he’s thinking, but I don’t think I can handle seeing him naked right now. 

“It hurts that you’re shutting me out,” I mutter, and I bite my lip to prevent myself from crying. I’ve been doing exactly the same to him and I feel like such a bitch. 

Again, running water is all I hear. 

“Logan?”

“You’ll get over it,” he says, but his voice sounds strangely emotional. 

“I’ll probably end up hating you.”

“Good. Time to grow up.”

And that just ticks me off good. 

Grow up? He wants me to grow up? Is he fucking kidding me?

It takes two strides to get me to the shower. 

“What do you know about growing up, huh?!” I open up the door and poke my finger in his chest, ignoring the fact my cast is getting soaked. “If one of us is still emotionally immature, it’ll be you! You’re always running, too scared to care. Well, you know what? Go ahead! I don’t need you anymore.”

I slam the door closed and almost slip over the wet tiled floor as I stomp my way out of the bathroom. 

Who does he think he is? Lecturing me about growing up? Ha! Fuck him! I don’t need him. I really don’t. (Liar!)

I’m not aware he's following me until he grasps my upper arm and brings me to a halt so abruptly I shriek. He backs me up against the wall and snarls, “You don’t know what it’s like, goddamn you. I can’t have a weak spot. I can’t--”

He stops and blinks confusingly.

“What?” I spit out, feeling waves of fright washing over me, but I refuse to show him I feel intimidated by any of it. At least he managed to wrap a towel around him before he grabbed me. It doesn’t seem to stay in place for much longer though. Just like the blanket. Oh God, just like the blanket. I don’t want this. I really don’t want this.

Intensely watching me, he says, “You’re afraid of me again.”

And that comes out genuinely hurt.

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

“Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly a friendly hug, now is it?” I reply bravely, but I’m really this close to begging him to – please please please - let me go.

He frowns as if he wasn’t aware of our situation, but then it sinks in and he flinches away from me like my skin could still kill. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m… sorry.” 

He's dripping wet and the towel is about to drop, and for the first time since I've known him, he seems uncomfortable with his nudity. It’s so unlike his usual indifference, I suddenly feel the need to smooth things over. 

Taking a deep breath to ease my fluttering heart, I say, “It’s okay. It’s just… I tense up. Sometimes.” 

I quickly walk past him to create some distance and sit down on the bed. My hands are shaking, and I’m so damn tired.

I hear him move – the closet, back to the bathroom - he even closes the door this time. Should I wait or is this my queue to get out? I don’t know. Everything’s so complicated. I wish I could just hate him. It seems like such a simple emotion. Why can’t I just hate his guts? (Because you love him.)

He comes back in, dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He seems to contemplate something, but then he leans against the desk and says, “I wasn’t shutting you out. I thought… maybe you needed some space.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agree, and I’m trying to remember what we were fighting about because I’ve lost track along the way. Something about freedom. He wants to be free. I could use a break myself, but I don’t want him to run. “Maybe we’ve become too dependent. Expect too much of each other. We should… we should try to fit in more. Spend more time with the others.”

“Yeah,” is all he says, and I don’t know what to do now. Go back to my room? Are we done talking? I don’t have a clue. I feel like I’ve lost my connection with him entirely. How is that possible? 

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he apologizes again, and something inside of me shifts. 

I feel like crawling onto his lap and hiding in his arms (do it), but I shrug instead and stare at my hands. “I need to get over it.”

There’s an awkward silence. I’m scared I’m going to cry.

Pushing back those prickling tears, I stand up and say, “I’m going back to bed. Are you gonna be okay?”

He doesn’t look at me. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” 

Just a couple of steps to my room, but I feel like I’m walking away from our friendship. From whatever we have – or had – together. 

No matter how hard I try, I can’t think of anything to stop this from happening. It’s hurting me so damn much I have to clench my fists to keep myself from falling apart right in front of him.

"'Night," I choke out, not looking back, and as I close the door, his softly spoken "Bye, kid" seems to cover it all.


	28. Chapter 28

And so life goes on. 

I’ve crawled out of my room and try to fit in again. Logan keeps his word and gives me space. Lots of space. I’ve hardly seen him this week. Oh, he walks by and grunts a ‘hey, kid’ when it’s unavoidable, and when we accidentally end up in the same room, his eyes always search mine for just a moment, but that’s that. 

I feel like such an idiot. 

I wanted this, didn’t I? How come I feel so damn rejected? What is wrong with me? I can’t bear to have him around, but I also can’t bear to see him so distant. I’m so fucked up I don’t know what to do anymore. 

I’ve tried to act indifferent at first. Pretended I was busy with my own life, but I can’t fool my closest friends. Faye, Jubilee, kitty - they don’t say anything, but I see the pity in their eyes. They all know how important Logan is to me, and they also know we’re not on speaking terms right now. Their gentle sympathy is making my temper bubble up. I just can’t stand it. 

Two days ago I gave up pretending. Logan once again ignored my existence when we ended up in the kitchen together. He looked at me for one heart-stopping moment and then disappeared before I could say anything.

And so I snapped. 

Giving up my ‘I’m so happy, dumdidum’ façade, I managed to insult everybody who cared to talk to me. Instead of telling me that I act like a total bitch, they shake their heads in forgiveness and try to act even more relaxed around me. I so fucking hate it I could scream.

Yesterday, after getting into another fight with Jubes and Kitty about something so stupid I already forgot, I stomped into my room and found Faye reading on her bed. She closed her book and asked me for like the hundredth time, “When are you going to tell him?” 

I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I snarled, “Fuck off, for God’s sake!” and grabbed the first thing available to throw against the wall. It was my phone. My fucking phone. I just got a new one because the other one’s lying somewhere at the bottom of Alkali Lake.

“Rogue, you have to tell him,” she tried again, and it made me even more furious than I already was. 

I walked up to her, planted my hands on my hips and started ranting. 

“Oh, you’re the one to talk! You choose to work with the enemy. If you had your morals a notch higher, Miss Sarah Faye, the younger students would still be able to sleep at night.”

I can’t believe I said that. God, I didn’t think I had it in me, but it’s official now: the Bitch Award goes to Anna Marie D’Ancanto, alias Jane Joelle Logan, better known as Rogue. 

“That’s mean and you know it,” Faye calmly said. She got up and walked away, and I instantly felt guilty but suppressed it the best I could. 

I sank down on my bed to crawl under my duvet, but just when I thought I had a few moments to myself, Mr. ‘I can’t stand to be near you’ showed up, bursting into my room without even knocking. I knew Faye told him to come to me. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do his rescue-Rogue act once again so I told him to fuck off too. 

He didn’t listen, of course. He said I needed to talk to someone. I snorted and asked since when did *he* prefer talking. He was quiet for a while and I grew angrier with every second. ‘Kid,’ he started and I just lost it. I jumped up, slapped him in the face with my good hand and screamed that I couldn’t stand the sight of him, I wanted him gone.

I couldn’t stop myself. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I’d gone too far, but I just couldn’t quit. I think Logan was taken completely by surprise. For a moment he looked so damn hurt I thought he’d cry, but he recovered quickly and simply left without another word. 

I didn’t even shed a tear. I just fell back on my bed and tried to disappear, feeling totally wrecked. 

I haven’t really talked to anyone since then. 

Jean, Ororo and the professor tried, but I told them to just leave me alone. Faye seems to have slept somewhere else last night, but she’s brought me food and drinks today even though I don’t deserve it. I didn’t even say ‘thank you’. 

I thought Logan would leave the mansion after my hysterical outburst, but I just looked out the window and I saw him talking to Jean in the garden. She reached out to touch his arm, but he rudely shrugged it off and stepped away from her. In a bitter way I felt satisfied by it. He’s just as fucked up as I am.

* * *

Hours turn into days. Days turn into weeks. Logan doesn’t leave and I still bitch around. I push as far as I can go, but it doesn’t seem to affect anyone but me. Everybody seems to understand my behavior and I feel like I’m drowning in acceptance. The only emotion I recognize in myself is fury, and I know this is what Logan feels too most of the time.

It’s weird. The more we grow apart, the more I’m becoming him. It’s so hard to control the smoldering rage inside of me - I feel like smashing things, kicking the shit out of someone. I know now why Logan likes the cage fights so much. It’s a legitimate way to get rid of the pressure, but I don’t know how to handle it. 

I can’t seem to reach out and ask for help either. By now, every relationship is blurred, the truths and lies are all stirred together in one terrifying shade of grey, and I don’t know what I want anymore. (You wanted him. You so wanted him.) All I know is pain and anger, and it gets worse every time I see Logan. If he doesn’t take off soon, I might be the one running again.

* * *

The moon is watching the dark side of the world. Like a giant light bulb it tries to light up the earth, but I already know its glow won’t reach me tonight. I’m hiding under a tree by the lake, wondering if this is the night I’m going to drown for real. 

My momma used to tell me I dwell in melancholy when I’m moody. I guess she was right. She also told me I should give up on fairytales and dreams, and to be prepared for a world far different from my childish imagination. Well, she was right about the latter. I’m only finding bitterness and hurt lately. Is this what being grown-up is all about? Being resentful and angry? This is what she wanted me to be? Because I don’t like it one bit.

Watching the gentle rippling of the lake, I try to recall my days as a child. Life seemed so easy then. I was always daydreaming, making plans, dancing. My mother never understood my hunger for tales and adventures. How I loved to pretend I was a princess, always searching for a prince, wearing a pink ballet outfit and a little silver colored tiara. I was such a girlie girl. In my imagination, I was Cinderella or Odette, and I’ve lost myself so many times in the universe of Beauty and the Beast, and even Romeo and Juliet. 

I didn’t have clue about the tragedy in their lives, of course. All I did was dance the part in Madame’s studio, feeling happy. It starting at the barre while doing my warm-up exercises. I just stared into the large mirror until the studio faded and I felt like I was being lifted up by my fantasy. How I miss my pointes right now. They had the power to take me to that other world. I didn’t pack them when I ran from home. I guess I instinctively knew my dancing days were over. 

Defeated, I lean over to look at my refection in the water. I don’t recognize myself anymore. Where is the girl who used to be Marie? The princess-wannabe? I haven’t felt her in such a long time. I miss her. I hate the girl staring back at me. 

“You got what you wanted,” I whisper. “What you deserve.” 

The girl agrees because she doesn’t come up with excuses anymore. For once, everything inside my head is quiet. 

I can’t enjoy the internal cease-fire for long though. There’s a sound of footsteps coming my way. I know this spot is one of the make-out places around here, but I didn’t expect it to be popular on a dreary Thursday evening. I can’t get away without being noticed, so I melt into the shade of my hideaway-tree and listen. 

“Who’re you hiding from?” I hear Logan’s voice, and I instantly tense up. 

“The world,” I say, keeping my eyes on the lake straight ahead. 

“Good spot.”

“Obviously not good enough.”

He doesn’t respond and I force myself not to look over my shoulder. 

I can hear him move. He’s coming closer, walking up to the lake. From the corner of my eye I see him puffing a cigar. 

I hate him. 

I hate him I hate him I hate him. 

I hate the way I want to walk up to him and hide in his arms. I don’t, of course. I just stay here, chin on my knees, arms around my legs, and I bite my lower lip to keep myself from blurting out how much I’ve missed him. 

Sighing, he looks down and then I know. 

“You’re leaving,” I say, because it’s so obvious I don’t even have to ask. “Fine. Hope you have a nice life.”

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you, kid,” he calmly declares, and like always, he gets on my nerves when he seems to lack emotion when I feel like I'm choking on mine. 

“Oh, really? Well, this *hurt* doesn’t suit me either. Or even better, this *life* doesn’t suit me. So excuse me for being a cynic. You either deal with it or you can shove it up your ass.”

God, I hate him. I hate him so much.

He throws away the cigar stub, but his head’s clouded in smoke. It looks like a white aura - pure, somehow. 

“Don’t do this,” he says, almost… pleading? 

Avoiding his gaze, I grunt, “Do what?”

“Don’t ruin this… whatever we have.” 

I snort. “You’re the one to talk.”

He sighs like I’m being difficult, and that just pisses me off even more. 

“You wanted out, remember?” I remind him none too gently. “I’m handing you your great escape on a silver platter. What are you waiting for?”

“I’m not a coward.”

“Well, sugar, it sure looks like that from where I’m standing.”

He’s looks away and I ignore the frustrated growl. I’m frustrated too and he doesn’t give a shit either. I’m just gonna grit my teeth and sit it out until he leaves first. 

And I still hate him. Just to make sure.

“Damnit, Marie, I don’t want to fuck this up. Not with you.” 

I close my eyes and suppress my eagerness. This isn’t going to work. He’s obviously not willing to just quietly slip away, so that means I have to take matters into my own hands. I just have to. I can’t do this anymore and I know he wants to leave. It’ll be better for the both of us. 

“Too late,” I say, and even though my stomach is in knots, my voice is surprisingly strong. “You should’ve thought of that before you *raped* me.” 

And then the world seems to stop.

I can see him flinch, just a tiny movement and barely perceptible, but I know Logan and it means I’ve seriously hurt him. It takes a heavy, stretched silence before he finally gasps, “No.” 

I feel sick.

“No,” he says again, his voice breaking. “You said--”

“I lied.” 

And I refuse to cry. Because I hate him. And because it’s better this way. It’ll get better. Eventually. I hope.

I expected him to become furious, or at least frustrated, but he just stands there, totally lost until his legs don’t seem to work anymore and he slowly sinks to his knees instead. He swallows hard, one arm clutching his stomach, the other supporting himself, and he doesn’t even try to get back up. 

His shock is real, so *raw*, it suddenly makes me think of Dr. Graham’s words about his amnesia. What if this is all too much? He can’t seem to handle it. He’s panting, about to pass out. What if his healing factor is kicking in to erases this moment? What if it’s going to erase more? 

“Logan?” I scramble up, ready to run up to him if he’s going down, but he doesn’t react at all. Trembling all over, he’s on hands and knees, breathless and shaky, and seeing him so helpless finally ignites the inevitable. My chest tightens and I’m suddenly crying, my anger replaced by something hollow and cold. 

This is all my fault. Everything’s my fault. This whole mess… and I never thought I could hurt him this much. I didn’t think I had that power over him. I’m so terribly ashamed of myself I only want to get away and run, but if dr. Graham was right, Logan’s healing might be his biggest enemy right now. I can’t let him forget his life. I just can’t. 

Crawling toward him, I wipe away the tears blurring my vision. “Logan? Talk to me.” 

He looks up but his eyes are staring right through me and - oh, no. No no no. This isn’t right. This isn’t *right*.

I grab him by the shirt and try to shake him out of the daze. “Logan! Talk to me, damnit!” 

He blinks. 

I really hope he’s trying to focus because he’s still gasping and shaking, and if he’s going to lose it I really don’t know what to do. “Come on,” I encourage him, sniffling and wiping more tears with my sleeve. “Stay with me, you hear? You’ll be okay.”

“I hurt you,” he says in a strangled voice, and he does a weak attempt to struggle free. 

I think he’s somewhat lucid again. I can’t let him go now though. He’s too upset. God knows what he might do. I have to keep him here. 

“That wasn’t you,” I try to smooth things over. “It was Wolverine, not you.” 

“No.” He’s getting stronger. One shove is enough to push me away, but I quickly regain my balance and throw myself into his arms before he’s up. We both fall down, his body cushioning mine, and I end up straddling him, using my weight to keep him down. 

Can anyone hear me out there? The Professor? Should I call of help? For backup? He can’t take off. Not like this.

But he isn’t trying anymore. He seems to be over the initial shock. 

His chest heaving, still trying to get enough air, but he doesn’t move otherwise. While I’m catching my breathe as well, he seems to shake off the daze. 

“No, it *was* me. Me and him… we’re the same.”

It comes out both resentful and resigned, and it instantly makes cry again. 

Burying my face against his chest, I sob, “No. You’d never hurt me. It’s all my fault. Everything. I started it. I knew it was wrong and I just kept going. I’m so sorry, Logan. I really am.” 

I’m almost choking and hold onto him for dear life, afraid he’s going to hate me for what I’ve done. I can’t bear the thought of it. I don’t want to be the one who proved to him that no one is worth caring for. He’ll be so lonely and it’ll be all my fault. 

For a moment my weeping is the only sound I hear, but then he says, “That’s not… no, that’s not how I dreamt it.” 

I can actually feel the energy flooding back to him. It’s shimmering through his body, somehow buzzing all around me, and I know he’s fully back to his senses again. I brace myself for what comes next, because if he remembers, this will be the end of us.

“I attacked you,” he says, sounding so very distressed. “I forced you--” 

“But *I* started it,” I cut him off. “I *wanted* it. I wanted it but then I got scared and everything got messed up. It’s all my fault, Logan. It is. I’m so sorry.”

It’s like he didn’t even hear me. 

“God, no,” he whispers, sickened by his new knowledge. “How can you stand the sight of me?”

“Because I love you,” I bawl into his shirt. 

Can I die now? I really wouldn’t mind. Just let me close my eyes and show me the gates of heaven. Or Hell. Or whatever. 

“You can’t… no. No.” 

“I do. I tried to hate you. I really tried. I just can’t.”

“No.” His voice is strong now, determined, and he clearly doesn’t believe any of it. He pushes me off of him, and I never thought I’d beg a man – any man - to stay with me, but now I can’t help but disgrace myself. 

As he manages to get up, I’m still on my knees and grab his leg. “I hate you for not loving me enough!” I weep hysterically, and I don’t even feel ashamed. I’m just tired. So tired. If he decides to run, I can’t stop him anymore. I’m done with it. Drained. 

But time passes by and neither of us moves. I don’t even notice at first; I’m too busy dealing with my own misery. Then I realize he isn’t gone yet. I’m still holding on to him, my cheek against the pant leg of his jeans, wetting it with my tears. 

I didn’t expect him to stay. I guess… I guess I should try to get myself somewhat together before figuring out the next move. 

I take a few deep breaths, afraid to let him go just yet, and I’m almost calm when hear, “I hate it that I care too much.”

He sounds composed enough. I know the true meaning of those words though. I know how he hates to love someone. To feel something so deep it makes him vulnerable and exposed. Still, I’m so glad he’s able to feel *something*. After everything he’s been through, after all that’s been done to him, he’s still able to care. Not just for me, but for all of us here. He cares. More than he wants.

When I have the courage to meet his eyes, I catch him staring down at me. Silent tears are leaving wet trails on his face, and bloodshot eyes tell me he’s just as exhausted as I am. I reach out for the belt of his jeans to pull him down. This isn’t over yet. 

Falling back on his knees, his voice is low and hoarse when he says, “I am so sorry.” New tears express his guilt even more, and I can’t stand seeing him like this. I pull him close and I feel the feverish, wet skin of his face against my cheek as he leans heavily onto me, his body shaking, all muscles tense. He’s about to fall apart, and I want to show him it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to be human.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” I whisper, caressing his back. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.” 

We’re both crying, holding on to each other and rocking back and forth. I don’t know who’s comforting who. I somehow end up on his lap. He almost crushes me in his embrace. Our tears mingle, and he’s panting against my neck, radiating a clammy heat. It’s all so strangely intimate, strangely fragile, and it actually calms me down a bit. I try to swallow down the lump in my throat while he’s slowly getting control over his emotions as well. 

“Look at us,” I mutter between hiccups. “I so envy you and that healing thing.” 

He keeps leaning into me, probably too strung out to move. “What for?”

“I bet we both look like crap, but in a few minutes you’ll be fine and I’m stuck with puffy eyes for ages.”

He chuckles without humor, warm gushes of breath close to my ear. It’s such an unknown sensation I’m not sure what to make of it when I quiver. Am I scared? Something else? 

I’m still trying to figure it out when Logan pulls away from me. The moment those haunted eyes scan mine, I almost choke up again so I concentrate on his rumpled shirt instead and say quietly, “I’m really sorry, you know. For everything.”

“You’re sorry,” he mutters in disbelief. “This is too fucked up. Look at me.” 

I don’t really think I can, but he brushes away a lock of hair and gently cups my face, compelling me to listen anyway. 

“It’s not your fault,” he says as soon as our eyes meet again. “You hear me? It’s *not* your fault.”

I wish it was true. He clearly doesn’t remember everything yet. I’m not sure what to do now though. I’m not ready to explain it all, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to run as soon as this is over. What if he leaves and I’ll never see him again? We can’t part like this. We’re not done yet.

“Take me with you,” I whisper, and the moment I say those words I know they’re right. I need this. I need to work this out with him without the rest of the Mansion watching us. 

He doesn’t answer, and I try to feel our connection again as I bend over, resting my forehead against his. 

“Logan, please. The way they look at me - I feel like I’m walking on eggshells all the time. I can’t move on here. It’s suffocating. I need to get away.” 

He takes a deep, shaky gulp of air, hesitating, and I feel his breath passing into mine. All it takes to kiss him is a little tilt of the head, and I’m surprised about how easy that would be. How much I want it, still want it, after everything that’s happened. 

“You’re not scared of me?”

I put my arms around his neck, my lips brushing over the hair on his cheek and tasting the salt of his tears. “Not right now, but I might be. Sometimes.” 

It’s the truth. It happens to sneak up on me, but I’m not scared now. I try to relax my body against his, hoping he’ll sense I’m telling the truth. “Come on, Logan. We’ve come this far already. Let’s just go.”

“Okay,” he gives in, sounding not too sure yet. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”


	29. Chapter 29

What a night. 

Clutching a pillow in my arms, I duck a little deeper under the blankets and sigh in relief. I’m so glad the hardest part is over. I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, but it can’t possibly be more fucked up than everything we’ve been through so far.

It’s almost morning and I’m in Logan’s room. After our very emotional breakdown, we somehow eventually found the strength to walk back to the Mansion. I didn’t want to talk to Faye, or anyone else for that matter, so I simply followed him into his room, kicked off my shoes and fell on his bed. I think I was asleep even before my head hit the padding. I don’t know whether Logan slept here too, but I’m pretty sure this bed is all mine right now. 

I sigh again and feel a major headache coming on. Of course. I always have a headache after crying like I did last night. I bet I look awful. Maybe taking a long, hot bath will help a little. I have to cover my eyes with some cucumber. Or was it something else? Carrot? Banana? Ugh. What the hell. I’m entitled to look like crap after a night like that. At least I feel better. Emotionally, I mean. A lot better actually. I almost feel giddy. What about Logan? He didn’t leave without me, did he?

I look up with one eye still clenched shut and spot him staring out of his window, probably brooding over all that’s happened. He's wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I wonder if he’s slept at all. 

“Morning,” I croak and clear my throat.

He doesn’t answer, but he slowly turns around and leans against the windowsill. He looks like crap too. Even with his healing, so that means he’s *really* fucked up. 

Watching him curiously, I ask, "How are you feeling?" 

He takes a deep breath and looks away. “Guilty. Ashamed. Frustrated.”

Despite his serious words I can’t help but grin. “Sounds like one of your better days.”

When his eyes dart back to mine, he must be seeing something calming because his scowl fades a bit. “I’m serious, Marie.”

I yawn and stretch before I crawl out of bed. “I’m not. I’m tired of it all. Let’s wait until we’re out of here, okay?” 

“You still want to go?”

I was on my way to his bathroom, but I stop and turn around. “Of course. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t answer right away and I wait, suddenly a lot less optimistic.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he finally answers. “It’s… I don’t know what to do. What *you* want me to do.”

“Well, if it makes it any easier, neither do I. But I do know that we need to get away from this place to work this out, so let’s get our stuff and split.”

“What I’ve done--”

“Hush,” I interrupt him. “Not here, not now.”

“Okay,” he agrees tiredly. “Go pack your stuff. I’ll talk to Chuck.”

“No. You take a shower, pack your stuff, and *I’ll* talk to Charles. I also want you to take a nap before we leave, because you look like hell.”

He doesn’t argue while I pick up my shoes and walk to my room, meaning he’s probably too tired or still too much in shock. Well, *I* have to stay level-headed then. First, I’m going to snatch me some cucumber. Or carrot. Banana? 

Whatever.

* * *

After a refreshingly hot bath and slices of cool cucumber to get rid if my swollen eyes – I *knew* it was cucumber, I’m on my way to the Professor with Faye right beside me. I’ve told her the *whole* story this time, but she didn’t judge me. I guess she’s seen her fair share of human flaws because of her mutation. Nobody’s perfect, after all.

“Here goes nothing,” I whisper to Faye as I knock on Charles’ door. 

She grabs my hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Thank God I had to courage to make up with her after my cruel outburst. She’s so very good at forgiving. 

“I’m with you, babe.”

The Professor welcomes us and I take a deep breath, knowing this is going to be very weird. I don’t want to bring Logan in an awkward position, but I can’t hold back the truth either. That’s why I brought Faye. She’s the only one who can make sure things will be explained properly. 

“Rogue, Sarah-Faye, what a pleasant surprise,” the Professor says with his usual warm smile.

“I’m here for a reason,” I cut to the chase, because he probably knows already. “Logan and I are going to continue our trip to Anchorage today.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show. “I see. Did you talk to Jean or Hank about your health?”

Hmm, didn’t think of that. Not that it matters, of course. 

“No, but I’m going, anyway. Logan and I have some things to work out together. I could ask you to take a peek inside my head, but this isn’t about logic only. I’ve brought Faye to transfer my feelings instead.” 

I swallow and take a deep breath. Wow. I’m glad I got that out without stuttering.

Charles’ serene smile doesn’t leave his face but his eyes tell me he’s proud of me. 

“Very well,” he says as he rolls his wheelchair toward us. “I’m glad you’re finally taking this affair into your own hands, Rogue. For a moment you had me concerned.”

I smile and shuffle my weight to my other foot. “Yeah, well. I’m a big girl. I can handle this now.”

“So I noticed. I’m ready if you are, dear,” he calmly tells me, and I look at Faye. 

“I’m ready, too,” I say, and I take her hand in mine. 

She holds up her other hand for Charles to grab, and when he does, she closes her eyes and concentrates. 

I close my eyes as well and hope she’s able to transfer all the right emotions. I want Charles to feel my love and my hope, but also my fear and hurt, otherwise my decision doesn’t make sense. I don’t want him to blame Logan. In a way, Logan’s just as much a victim as I am. Maybe even more. He really needs to understand.

When I feel Faye loosening her grip, I open my eyes again and look at the Professor. He’s watching me with a sad expression, and he suddenly looks a few years older. I wonder if maybe he really didn’t know after all. 

“I understand,” is all he says. “I’ll explain your sudden departure to the others.”

Heaving a sigh of relief, I smile. “Thank you.”

Faye is wiping away a tear, but she’s smiling, too. “Come on. I’ll help you pack.”

* * *

Everything’s ready. Looking around one more time, I zip up my bag and hope I got all the things I need. 

Faye’s sitting on her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“I’m going to miss you too,” I tell her, feeing nervous and suddenly unsure. “I hope I’m doing the right thing, here.”

"You are. I know you are."

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’ve *felt* it, remember?” she reminds me. “If I was Logan, I’d be scared to death by the way you love me.”

I chuckle. “Well, he doesn’t believe I’m capable of loving him at all. To be honest, it surprises me too.” I open the door and throw my bags into the hallway, but as I want to walk up to the room next to mine, Jean’s voice catches my attention. 

“--you going?”

“Away,” Logan grunts for an answer.

I know I shouldn’t be listening in, but I can’t help it. I’m too curious. I’m sure Logan knows I’m here, maybe Jean too, but I don’t give a damn. 

“You’re not fully healed, yet,” Jean points out. 

What is she talking about? It’s been weeks since we left our prison. He should be fine by now. 

“Never will be, Red.”

“Then talk, Logan. Tell us what happened. We’re here to help.”

“You want to help? Fine. Stay out of my way.”

Good. This is good. He’s still not his usual charming self around her. I can’t suppress a smirk even though she’s been really nice to me all this time. I just can’t help myself. I don’t want to share.

Jean doesn’t seem to be affected by his attitude, though. “Are you going to say goodbye to Rogue?”

Okay, this is getting *really* interesting. Bet she’s going to tell him again I’m still a little ‘taken’ with him. Ugh.

“No,” Logan growls. 

"It's the least you can do, you know."

“She’s coming with me.”

Heheh. Yup, sugar, you got that right. 

Jean doesn’t seem to agree. After a short silence, she states, “I can’t let her leave in her present condition.”

“It’s her choice,” my buddy answers and I’m nodding in agreement even though he can’t see me. 

“She’s not capable to make such a decision right now. You should know that.”

“Look, Jeannie, go find another charity-project. Marry Scooter for all I care.”

Ouch.

“That’s below the belt,” the beautiful doctor tells him matter-of-factly.

Clearly reaching his patience-limit, he sneers, “You wish.”

Ouch again.

“I’m disappointed in you, Logan.”

Oh, please. 

“Join the rest of the world. Now fuck off.”

Ouch to the max. 

Knowing this conversation is over, I rush back to my room, indicating Faye to hush up and wait until I hear Jean passes my door. Once the coast is clear, I’m out of here.

* * *

And so here were are once again in the truck, on our way to fulfil my stupid, childish dream. This time no M&M’s, no colourful toenails, and certainly not nearly as excited as I was the first time. When I look back, I can hardly imagine it was only eight weeks ago. My whole life has turned upside down in just eight weeks. It’s scary to realise how life can turn on a dime. 

I glance at Logan. 

He hasn’t said a word since we drove off. It doesn’t look like he’s going to start a friendly conversation any time today either. I wonder what he’s thinking, but something tells me I should let him brood for a while so I watch the road instead. 

What’s waiting out there? Am I going to see Anchorage this time? Is there some sort of curse preventing me from getting my ass up north? Jesus, you’d almost think there was. 

Am I doing the right thing here? I don’t know anymore. I thought I did, but now… now I just feel confused. And to be honest, I’m also a little worried. I’m truly alone with Logan, and even though I know this side of him would never hurt me, I can’t get rid of that nasty feeling that’s making me edgy and very aware of his presence. I’m sure he senses it and, on top of all the other emotions, it’s making me feel guilty. 

This is just all kinds of awkward. I have to focus on something else. Something like… are we going to see the same restaurants and hotels again? I think I want to. 

“Can we follow the same road like we did before?” I ask, and Logan seems to snap out of his thoughts and realizes I’m in the car as well. 

“You want that?” 

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Silence fills in again, and damnit, I don’t like it. It’s making me all jittery.

“I really mean the same path. Like, with the same restaurants and the same hotels and all.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” I repeat and notice the tension in his shoulders and his tightly clenched fists on the steering wheel. He’s just as stressed as I am.

I stretch my back and hear popping noises. 

Whoa, he’s not the only one who could use a relaxing massage. Maybe the jacuzzi in the bridal suite of that one hotel will help me loosen up. I wonder if the room is available today. And even if it is, how are we going to solve the sleeping problem? Will I be able to sleep with Logan in the same room? I slept fine last night but I was exhausted. Tonight we’ll be truly alone. Am I going to freak out about it?

Eyeing his fists again, I suddenly feel the need to explain why I want to follow the same path as before. 

“I believe… I believe we leave some sort of blue prints of ourselves out there. Not just everywhere, but only in the places that *matter*, you know? Like, not in some street you pass in a bus or something, but uh… suppose you get hit by that bus in the same street, then there’ll be a blue print. Because it would make an impression. You’ll be aware of yourself and your feelings and all. It would be pinned down. That particular moment.”

He doesn’t really react and I feel like I’m making an ass out of myself, but somehow I can’t stop the waterfall of words tumbling out of my mouth. 

“So… when you’re sort of lost, or maybe… when you just want a trip down memory lane or something, you can… like, go back to all those places and then pick up the blue prints to study them or try them on or something, and then maybe, you know, just maybe, you’ll become somewhat closer to yourself again.”

I wait for an answer while I fidget with the gloves I’ve brought with me, just in case, but when it stays quiet, my eyes start to water and I realize I might be a bit emotionally unstable right now.

“Do you think I’m nuts?” I ask him in a small voice, and this time he answers without hesitation.

“No.”

“Oh.” 

I scrape some left-over polish from one of my nails and think he’s wrong. I’m clearly all over the place. I bet his senses are working overtime.

When Logan takes a deep breath, I glance up. 

I think he’s about to say something, but after opening his mouth for a second or two, he clenches his jaw shut and exhales again. 

“What?” I ask, afraid he’s going to say something I won’t like but that sick, curious part of me wants to know anyway. 

Watching the road, he reluctantly tries again. “You always sound reasonable to me. Even when you’re rambling.”

Hello, stomach flip. 

“Yeah?” I ask, and now he meets my eyes, a sad smile replacing his earlier surliness. 

“Yeah. Might take a while though.”

And suddenly there it is. That connection that seemed so normal at first but turned out to be so damn special my life feels so empty without it. 

Ducking into my seat with a smile I couldn’t possibly hold back even if I wanted to, I cross my arms and watch the road passing by. 

Seems like taking off together was a good decision after all.


	30. Chapter 30

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask.

We’re in ‘drooling Katie’s pizza joint’, and Logan is staring at his pizza like it’s going to grow a head or something. Thank God Katie isn’t working today. I don’t think Logan could’ve handled her well. Hell, I don’t think *I* could’ve handled her either. 

“Logan?”

“I’ll turn myself in if you want me to,” he states out of the blue. 

Huh? 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“If you want to press charges, I’ll turn myself in.” 

His voice is laced with a hopelessness he radiates as well, and something tugs at my heart. 

“I never even thought of that.” 

His head snaps up. “You didn’t?”

"No. What would I do that for?"

Now he watches me like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever seen. “What do you *think*?”

I can’t believe I’m having this conversation over pizza.

“It’s my fault too,” I point out rather calmly, putting back the slice of pizza that’s been dripping sauce from the moment it stopped halfway to my mouth. 

“It’s *rape*, Marie,” he huffs, showing his frustration at my composed reaction. “There was *no* consent.” 

“Since when are you going by the book?” I wonder, eyeing him in disbelief.

This is just all too weird. The thought of turning him in never ever crossed my mind. 

He tries to stay calm but fails miserably. “Jesus Christ, this is *not* about stealing Cyke’s bike.”

“I *know*. I was *there*, remember?”

“I can’t do this. I can’t.” 

Throwing some money on the table, he stands up and really can’t seem to control his despair any longer. 

Shit. Not now. 

I stand up as well, grab his arm and drag him along while I toss a smile to an old lady who’s curiously staring at us. I guess it’s a funny sight, me hauling someone like Logan out of the restaurant, but right now the looks aren’t welcome. 

Once we’re through the door I smash him against the side of the building. “What? What is it you can’t do?”

He drops down in a miserable heap. “This. Us. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Seeing him so apologetic triggers my own feelings again, and I sit next to him while he tries to keep his emotions under control. 

“I know,” I tell him quietly, fighting back the tears myself and resting my head against his shoulder. “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too, but we need to get over this. You need to accept it and move on, just like you taught me.”

“I can sense your fear all the time.”

Yeah, it must be so very hard to know he’s the cause of it. I don’t know what I’d do in his place. I’d probably run. 

“I’m really trying to control it.”

“I’m not going to hurt you again. I swear I’m not.”

“I know that too.”

It breaks my heart to think he needs to reassure me. I really have to try to control my emotions better. This isn’t going to work if I keep reminding him. If only he could turn those senses off for a while.

After minutes of heavy silence, he asks, “Were you pregnant?”

It catches me off guard and I have to let the question sink in before I can answer it. 

“No,” I reach out to caress his hair. The more vulnerable he looks, the more I need to assure him I’m fine. “I’d lost too much weight and the meds were taking their toll too. I asked Jean the moment I woke up.”

He seems to be relieved by that. Did he think I had an abortion?

Watching him closely, I add, “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I was pregnant, but I think I could only love the baby.”

He stares at me in shock. “Why?”

I shrug. “Well, it would’ve been *our* child.”

Way the go. Like that explains everything. 

Hazel eyes with that beautiful glint of green are intensely watching me before drifting away. “I don’t want kids.” 

Don’t want them in general or just not with me? 

“Why not?”

“Because,” he barks, and it almost makes me jump.

Well, excuse me for asking. Jesus.

He apologizes soon enough. “Sorry. Just… sorry.”

I knew it would be difficult, but right now I don’t really know if I can go through with this. Maybe I should just give up. Whatever Logan and I had, it’ll probably never return no matter how hard I fight for it. And besides, it takes two to tango, right? Well, my dance partner doesn’t look like he’s going to shake his booty any time soon.

I sigh and together we stare at the activity in the parking lot until I close my eyes and tell him, “This was a stupid idea. Let’s just call it a quit and go our own way.”

“No,” he says with a sudden determination. “You were right. I’m not going to run from this. If you don’t turn me in, we’re in it together.” 

Surprised by his unexpected strength, I look at him. “We are?”

“Yeah. We can do this. Unless… you don’t think I’m worth it…” he trails off, still staring straight ahead.

I frown in annoyance. “Now look, bub. Do you really think I’d go through all this trouble if I thought you’re a useless bum?”

For the first time in ages I see a grin appearing on his face and I grunt semi-annoyed, “Wipe that smirk off that face of yours.”

He lowers his eyes for just a moment, but then he locks an intense gaze onto me and says quietly, “I can’t lose you.”

For a moment I can’t say anything. That stupid lump in my throat is preventing me to speak out loud, but after swallowing twice I manage to squeak, “Ditto.”

“Can I… give you a hug?”

His remorseful carefulness almost makes me cry again. “Stop asking and just hold me, damnit.” 

I throw myself at him and he wraps his arms around me. Some frigid twit shouts, “Could you two save that for a hotel room, please?” and I yell back as her, “What’s wrong with you? Not getting any?” 

Logan chuckles and I mutter under my breath, “Silly cow.”

“She has a point, darlin’,” he smirks and the butterflies in my stomach are coming back to life because he’s called me darling again. 

“Okay. So let’s get us a room and cuddle up all night,” I suggest, crawling all over him to sit on his lap. 

He looks at me with an expression I haven’t seen before. Is that respect? Or… admiration?

“Where'd you get your strength, Marie?”

I cup his face in my hands. “You taught me.”

Our eyes connect and I feel like drowning. That’s definitely an expression I’ve never seen before. Is that… love?

He’s the first to look away though. 

I’m still wondering what the hell just happened when he grabs my hand, places a fast, chaste kiss in my palm and says, “C'mon on. Anchorage’s waiting.” 

Nah. I must’ve seen it wrong.

* * *

Two hours later, I’m in the jacuzzi and squealing along with the radio while Logan is getting us some food and drinks other than the mini-bar crap. He wanted to get two rooms for tonight, but I immediately told him that he was *not* going to leave me all by myself in the bridal suite. We argued for a while, but he gave in eventually. He’s stuck with me again. 

I hope I did right. I think he wanted two rooms because *he* thinks I don’t want him around, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he simply needs some space for himself and now I took that away from him. Whatever the case, I hope I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I want him to stay with me so I can get over this stupid fear, but it’ll be awkward for the both of us. Still, we have to start somewhere, right? I hate the way he’s trying to be as non-threatening as possible. Like, when he left, he told me he’d be gone for at least an hour, and he left the keys with me so he wouldn’t be able to come in unexpected. 

Those things are getting on my nerves. I don’t want him to be so aware of possible threatening situations. I don’t want to be so aware either. I just want us to be us again. I want him to join me in in this tub even though I’m probably going to freak a little. It’s all going to be a part of the accepting process, and I’m willing to give it a go if he is too. 

A knock on the door startles me out of my musing, and tug at my bikini top to make sure everything’s in place. This time I had the brain to take a bathing suit with me. 

“It’s open.” I yell from the tub, and Logan comes in, kicking the door closed and carrying a bag of groceries. His pace wavers the moment he spots me, but he recovers rapidly and puts down the bag on the table. 

“What did you get?” I ask, fumbling with the remote to turn off the music.

Turning his back to me, he throws his leather jacket on the big, round bed. “Couple of beers and M&M’s.”

“No whiskey tonight?”

“I can do without a hangover,” he answers shortly. 

“You usually don’t get drunk. Healing thingy, remember?”

He doesn’t answer, but while I watch him putting the beer in the mini-bar, I notice a strip of cloth wrapped around his knuckles. 

Something isn’t right here. 

“What’s wrong with your hand?” I ask, sitting up straight. 

“Nothing.”

My heart skips a beat. Jean said something about him still not being okay yet, but he should be healing, no matter what. What’s going on? This *is* Logan, right?

Suddenly remembering that one time when Mystique took Bobby’s appearance, I ask suspiciously, “What’s my name? My real name?”

“Marie.” 

Okay, but if this is Mystique, she could’ve found out. It’s not like I’m not registered anywhere. I mean, I had a life before mutantdom. 

“My whole name?” I ask, and he turns around, staring at me like I’ve gone truly wacko this time.

“How the hell should I know? You’ve never told me.” 

“Jesus,” I whisper on an exhale, leaning back into the tub again. “For a moment you had me thinking you were that blue bitch Mystique.”

“Mystique?” He looks so puzzled I try really hard not to giggle, but a snort of laughter escapes anyway.

“Oh, God,” I moan, still snickering. “I’m sorry, sugar. It’s just… I thought… never mind.”

He mutters something, but I can’t hear him and I bite my lip to prevent myself from bursting into laughter again. 

“Look,” he says, visibly uncomfortable and fed up with this whole situation. “You want me to leave?”

“No, I want you to hop in.”

An incredulous look. “You serious?”

“Yep. Come on, you look like you can use a relaxing spa. I’ll massage your shoulders.”

Speechless, he gapes at me, probably scanning my emotions, so I keep a lock on his eyes and show him my best smirk.

“For Christ’s sake, Logan. I’m not going to bite you. Just hop in, will you?”

“You’re not afraid I’m going to bite *you*?”

Funny he mentions that. The mark has faded by now. Does he remember? 

I try to sound casual when I show him the shoulder. “You already did. It wasn’t that bad, you know.” 

I guess he’s lost in a rollercoaster of emotions because he just stands there with an unreadable expression. I can’t blame him. I’m not sure what to feel myself, but I’m really trying to act normal and I hope it’ll catch on eventually. 

“What do you want from me, Marie?” he asks warily, and it’s clear he really doesn’t have to clue how to behave around me anymore. 

I sigh, cross the tub and fold my hands on the edge to rest my cheek on the plastic wrapped cast. 

“I want us to be *us* again. You know, Logan and Rogue. Everybody knew we were buddies. I want that back. And I want us to have fun and mock Scott. I still want to kick your ass at the pool table, and I want you to give me noogies even though I hate it and never seem to get back at you. I also want to see your smile again, knowing I’m the one who makes you laugh. I miss that smile, Logan. I really do.”

He just looks at me, listening, processing. Since I’m on a rambling-spree anyway, I might as well go on and get it all out. 

“And when we’re back at the Mansion, I want you to go out on those wanderings of yours, knowing you’ll come back eventually. I don’t want to worry about you taking off and never seeing you again, because that’s what I do know. All the time. I hate it. I really do. And most of all, I really want us to stop tiptoeing around each other. It’s exhausting and awkward and just… ugh, you know? So… I guess… I guess I just want us to be the friends we were before.”

His intense stare tells me he’s trying to comprehend my randomly blurted thoughts, and I hope it gets through this time because I’m running out of options.

“You still want that?” he asks doubtfully, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at him.

“Yeah, stupid. I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while now.”

“Okay.” He thinks about it some more, but then a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes appears. “Me too.” 

“Good. Now get your ass over here.” I scoot back to make some space, and even though he’s shaking his head in disbelief, he starts unbuttoning his shirt anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about Logan's hand. I'll explain in chapter 31. ;)


	31. Chapter 31

I’m in a jacuzzi with Logan. Again. I’m not going to freak out here. Been there, done that. I’m cool. 

Okay, so I couldn’t help but shiver when he started to take off his clothes because that naked torso makes him look damn fierce, but I’m calm now. Sort of. Because it’s Logan. Just Logan. There’s no sign of Wolverine anywhere even though I know he’s always there, right under the surface. 

I know I used to swoon at the sight of Logan’s chest, but for a moment it made me uncomfortably aware of how feral he actually can be. Thankfully, the shirts and socks were the only pieces of clothing he got rid of, and, just like the first time we were here, the jeans stayed on. So now he’s here, half-naked, right in front of me, carefully stretching out those long legs without touching mine.

Shaking off that unwelcome fear that’s been trying to get a grip on my heart, I ask, “Comfy?”

“Peeing through a bathing suit,” he grunts, and it makes me giggle.

“Dork.” 

I splatter water in his face and he arches an eyebrow at me. 

“Dork?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

“What if I do?” he dares me, and I simply love that smirk. 

“I’m not scared of you.” 

The moment I say those words, I regret them right away. The playfulness is instantly gone and he looks away. 

“Yes, you are.”

Damnit. Why can’t we just seem to hold on when we’re having fun?

“*I’m* not scared, Logan. The rest of me… well, the rest me of me just doesn’t know that yet.”

He keeps scowling at anything but me. 

Fine. Let’s change the subject then. 

Watching the provisional bandage over his knuckles, I scoot over to his side. “So… what happened here? Are you hurt?” 

He actually edges away a bit. “It’s nothing.” 

Right. Tell that to someone who’d believe you, sugar. 

I move closer again and take his hand in mine. He squirms, but he doesn’t pull away when I unwrap the strip of fabric. 

Holy shit. There are cuts. Real, still somewhat bleeding cuts. He must’ve popped the blades somewhere. 

Gasping in shock, I look up. “Why aren’t you healing?”

It takes a moment before he mumbles, “Priority.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a matter of priority. This isn’t life threatening.”

Okay, so call me stupid, but he doesn’t look injured otherwise. If his healing is taking care of something more serious, where the hell is *that* wound? 

I reach out to flawless skin of his chest. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He grabs my hand and keeps it still right over his heart. “It’s just lack of sleep. I’m fine. Just… tired.”

“Tired,” I weasel out, wondering why the hell he didn’t tell me he’s so exhausted his healing makes it a number one priority. I knew he didn’t sleep well, but this is probably major insomnia we’re talking about. He’s hardly slept at Alkali Lake, and it’s been eight weeks since the rescue, so… crap. He’s going on a short nap here and there for at least two months?

Probably aware of my train of thoughts, he gives me an assuring smile. “I’m fine. Really.” 

I watch tree incisions again, my stomach churning. “Did you get into a fight?”

“No.” He lets go of the hand still on his body, and it feels weird to touch him that way so I withdraw awkwardly. 

He’s quiet for a moment, but then he adds a bit reluctantly, “Sometimes pain helps me focus.”

He doesn’t finish, but I think get it. He released the blades to get rid of some tension. Okay. I just wish I could do something about the cuts. I’m not used to seeing him so alive but injured at the same time. I somehow have the urge to lick the wounds and taste his blood. 

What the fuck? 

Where are those thoughts coming from? This is damn creepy and yet, it doesn’t *feel* weird. It’s like some primal instinct telling me that it’s *normal* to clean his wounds. 

Jesus, am I losing it? 

No. 

No, I’m quite calm actually. I think… I think the darker part of Logan’s personality is far more entwined with my own than I initially thought. I’m suddenly also pretty sure it was him who took care of me at Alkali Lake. 

Staring at his mouth, I say, “You gave me water.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember?”

“When I tried to sleep I had nightmares.”

Even though I should feel offended, I grin and tease, “Seeping water into my mouth is a nightmare?”

He looks me in the eyes and is dead serious when he answers, “Not that part.”

Uh… What? What’s he trying to say? Does he like that moment when he’s dreaming? Or is it just irrelevant compared to the rest?

“Well, I liked it,” I tell him, staring at his mouth again and envision drinking beer from those lips, right here, right now. 

Because it suddenly all makes sense. Wolverine never wanted to hurt me. My smell of arousal told him it was right to mate, and after that, he protected me as his property. He didn’t hurt me until I tried to fight him off, and even then he wasn’t actually attacking me to cause injuries. He only tried to pin me down.

“Marie.” 

Logan startles me out of the epiphany, and I almost choke in forgotten saliva. I start coughing and gasping, and he quickly offers me his beer. I gulp down what’s left of it, hoping my scent didn’t gave away the ideas about beer-tasting lips. Oh, God. That would be so embarrassing and plain confusing for the both of us. 

"Geez,” I mutter, swallowing down the last sips. “Thanks, sugar.”

He looks rather sadly at the now empty bottle. “Welcome.”

I quickly back up to the other side of the tub and busy myself with the plug. The water is getting cold and we need a refill. 

Logan is getting himself a new beer - his fourth one, not counting the one I drank, and he balances half over the edge, fishing for the ice filled champagne cooler and unconsciously providing me a great view of his backside. 

Damn that ass. Damn it even more in wet jeans. And what the hell is going on with me? This isn’t funny. It’s like I’m suddenly possessed or something. I haven’t had any sexual feelings since we ended up in that cell, and now it feels like there’s fire in my veins. This is very not appropriate right now.

I eye Logan again, praying his senses are not picking up anything, but he doesn’t seem to be concentrating on me. He stretches his neck and shoulders before closing his eyes tiredly, leaning back into the jacuzzi. He suddenly looks really cuddly. 

“Come here,” I say, and I’m clearly not thinking straight. 

He opens one eye, then the other, and he ends up frowning in confusion. “What?”

“Come on,” I say again, reaching over to grab his wrist. “Turn around?”

He surprises me by obeying, a bit guardedly still, but he turns his back to me while I spread my legs to pull him in between. 

“I’m too heavy,” he mutters, but I pull him close anyway and encircle his chest with my good arm. 

“It’s okay.” 

He stays still and rigid in my embrace, but I try to relax and just enjoy his closeness, the skin-to-skin contact, and semi-casually grab my M&M’s while I nuzzle his hair. 

It seems to be working, because after a while, he allows himself to relax as well. I smile when I feel the tension leaving his body, his heartbeat slow and steady under my palm.

“So, what *is* your full name?” he mumbles. 

Chewing my favorite candy, I answer, “Anna Marie D’Ancanto.” 

“Shame you don’t use it anymore.”

“I use it with you.” 

“You shouldn’t do this.”

For a moment I think he’s still talking about my name, but then I notice my hand has started wandering without me realizing. Right now, my fingertips are trailing over his ribs. Oops.

“Sorry,” I offer as casually as I can and try not to recall the last time I did this. 

I really have to keep my hands to myself. I should’ve learned that by now.

When it’s clear he’s not going to say something any time soon, I take an M&M and ask, “Want one?”

He lifts up his arm, but I hold it in front of his mouth. “Open up.”

Again, he actually does what he’s told, and so I plop down a red one and feel sort of smug. I never thought I’d be cuddling Logan in a jacuzzi and feed him M&M’s. I can’t help but grin at the thought.

“You’re not scared anymore,” he says, and I think he sounds thankful. 

“Like I said, I know you’re not going to hurt me again.”

And it’s true. I really do feel safe now. In fact, I feel damn good. I can’t even imagine him suddenly turning around and going all growly on me. 

Well, okay, I *can* imagine that, but it suddenly doesn’t seem too bad.

Not really thinking straight, I blurt out, “And if you do, well, I can forgive you one time, but after a second, you have to make an honest woman out of me.”

He flinches, and I’m ready to shoot myself. Jesus Christ, go me and my big mouth for being subtle and considerate. Ugh.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, his tone even though his shoulders are all tensed up again. 

“What? You mean now?”

“Yeah.”

Wait, what? Is this… a proposal?

“Are you asking me to marry you?” I mutter, half shocked, half amused. 

He shrugs a bit. “Guess so.”

Holy crap. Is this real? And it is, what the hell is he thinking? Just because I was a virgin doesn’t mean he has to drag himself down the aisle with me. We’re not living in the Middle Ages anymore.

I take a deep breath and plant a kiss on his hair, trying to make out one recognizable feeling in all the emotions flowing through me. 

“Logan, if I’ll ever get married, it’ll be out of love, not out of obligation.”

He doesn’t answer and I don’t know what to say, so we both stay quiet and drink our beers. He’s back to being edgy again though, and I try to show everything’s fine by slowly caressing over his arm, his shoulder, and his chest. He doesn’t stop me this time. 

After a while, I can feel him relax again. If it wasn’t for the occasional gulp of beer and a hitch of breath, I’d think he’d fallen asleep in my arms. I gently run my fingers through his thick, dark hair, and he reacts lazily by leaning back his head onto my shoulder. He seems so vulnerable now. Turning his face a little, I brush a kiss on his temple. 

“I like holding you like this,” I whisper close to his ear. 

When he opens his eyes, he looks a bit drowsy. “Yeah.”

He looks so damn sexy I really have to suppress the urge to bite his neck. 

Heavy eyelids slide closed again, and God, how I want to taste his skin. 

I close my eyes and grit my teeth. I’m not going to kiss, lick or bite him anywhere, and I really have to keep my hands to myself. Look where it got me last time. That wasn’t pleasant at all, so why am I doing this? Am I provoking fate or something? Testing his self-control?

I *know* I’m touching him in a way I shouldn’t. This is way too intimate. Any other guy would accuse me of leading him on, but somehow I still don’t really believe I have the power to seduce Logan. Seduce the *man*, not the animal. 

But what if I can? 

Suppose he wants to make love to me right now, am I up to it? I honestly can’t tell.

Watching him so relaxed in my arms, I smile.

He’s totally worn out.

“Wake up,” I softly say against the heat radiating skin right under his ear. “We should call it a night and get some sleep.”

“Hmm.”

“Come one, sugar. Wake up.”

He sighs but gradually starts moving. 

I let him go, and the moment we unfold, I miss his weight and his warmth. Still, I pull out the plug, grab a bathrobe, and pretend everything is fine while he takes a towel and swaggers lazily to the bathroom, his soaking jeans leaving a wet trail on the tiles. 

“God, I’m tired,” he mumbles before closing the door, and I hastily unwrap my cast and change into my flannel PJ’s. 

I rush to the toilet, brush my teeth by the toilet sink and watch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bright and feverish, cheeks flushed and my lips look a darker shade of red. I look like a foolish girl in love. 

Will I ever be free as long as he’s around? I doubt it. The thought of dying an old maid doesn’t really look appealing, but I just can’t imagine ever loving someone else. Not the way I love Logan. 

I hear the bathroom door and I expect an argument about who’s going to sleep in that enormous bed, but, dressed in sweatpants only, he drags himself up the one step of the heightened floor and flops face down onto a pillow. 

“Please, let me sleep here tonight.” 

His muffled plea is something I never could’ve resisted even if I wanted to, and I almost trip on my way to hurry over to him. 

The moment he senses me crawling into bed, he sluggishly wraps an arm around me to pull me closer. “I won’t hurt you,” he murmurs and curls himself around me before even have time to freak out. 

He’s asleep before I can answer, but I stay awake for a long time, thinking it’s terribly sad those are his last thoughts.


	32. Chapter 32

My fingers trail over the perfect skin of his chest. Touching, feeling, experiencing the smooth surface hiding the indestructible adamantium. He watches me with an intensity that should scare me, but it only makes me crave more. 

One hand is tangled in his hair, pulling him close, the other teasing his stomach, trailing lower. He gasps when my fingers curl over the edge of his pants, but still his hands don’t move. With clenched fists he lets me explore his body, knowing I need to be the one in control, and I brush my lips against his, once, twice, before I let myself taste the depths of his mouth. He returns the kiss ever so softly, and one of us moans. I think it’s me but I’m not entirely sure. 

I tease him by slowly dragging my nails over his thigh and hip, but I avoid touching that part he longs for. The room’s spinning, my thoughts blurred by this wonderful moment of pure desire, and I press my body against his. 

“Touch me, Rogue,” he pleads against my mouth, and he urges my hand to the hardness he cannot hide, making me tense up. 

Something’s wrong. I don’t really know what, but this doesn’t feel right and I suddenly don’t want to continue this anymore. I pull back to meet his eyes, but he doesn’t let me and wraps his strong fingers around my wrists. 

“You little tease,” he hisses in angry frustration as he pushes me back into the mattress. “You think you can get away with this?”

No. No, I don’t want this. 

I try to free my hands and squirm away, but he’s got me pinned down and licks my throat. I want to scream, but when I open my mouth, he stills my cry with a rough, hard kiss. One hand releases the grip on my hand, only to brutally fondle my breast, making me gasp with disgust. 

Long, blond hair tickles my face as I fight him with all I have, my eyes widening in shock. 

Blond hair? This isn’t right. What’s happening?

The man on top of me nudges my legs apart and raises his upper body. 

Sabretooth? Oh, God. Sabretooth! 

As I stare at the beast on top of me, he suddenly morphs into Dwight, the tall blond soldier from Alkali Lake. As he tears off my clothes, he snarls, “You want it! You want it! You know you do!”

Oh, God! Mystique! I *knew* it was Mystique! 

“No!” I scream, trashing and crying. “No!”

“Marie.”

No!

“Marie, darlin’, wake up.” 

I wake up with a jolt, gasping and trembling. When I see someone hovering over me, I shriek, push him away and scramble out of bed. My ankle’s tangled in a sheet and I fall, but I frantically kick and crawl away from… from… from who?

No one’s touching me now. Did I manage to fight him - or her - off? 

I back up against a wall, searching for a way to escape, and I see a man on his knees on the bed silently watching me. It’s too dark to see him clearly, but he’s not moving and right now, that’s all I need to know. I wipe my mouth, my face, my neck, still feeling the revolting saliva all over my skin. 

“Marie,” the man – Logan? - says calmly, showing me his hands in a way he’s no threat. “You had a nightmare. I’m going to get my clothes and leave the room, okay?” 

I swallow hard and try to concentrate on his words while my heart seems to pound its way out of my ribcage. 

“Logan?”

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m leaving the room now.”

He cautiously moves backwards and I try to understand why the hell he wants to leave when I need his protection. 

“Is she gone?" I glance around to see if we’re truly alone, and he stops. 

“Who?”

“Mystique,” I whisper, suddenly trembling all over my body. 

It takes him a while before he answers, “You were dreaming.”

“No. No, you don’t understand,” I tell him, still looking around. “She was here. Sabretooth and Dwight were trying to hurt me.”

Wait. 

I frown in confusion. 

This isn’t right. What am I talking about?

Logan’s still standing next to the bed. “It was a nightmare,” he explains evenly. “We’re alone. Just you and me.”

Oh. 

Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. He can’t be that blue bitch. She couldn’t possibly know our private jokes like the ‘peeing through a bathing suit’ comment. Damn, what a fucked up dream that was. It felt so real. 

“Right,” I mumble, and I know I should be scared because the man who raped me in real life is standing ten feet away, but I only feel tremendously relieved. Somehow this whole situation suddenly seems pretty silly. 

“Phew,” I exhale as I walk to the bed. “Sorry I woke you. Let’s go back to sleep.” 

I shake up my pillow, crawl under the blankets and snuggle up, but when I don’t hear a sound I turn around to look up. “What? Something wrong?”

Standing in the pale moonlight he looks down at me, puzzlement and guilt clearly written on his face. “You sure you want me to stay?”

“I know you mean well, and I appreciate your concern, but if you ask me that question one more time I swear I’m going to scream,” I tell him with a casualness I don’t really feel yet. 

Thankfully he doesn’t start an argument and comes back to bed. I scoot over a little more to his side, hoping against better judgement he'll pull me close again, but when he keeps his distance, I tell myself not to take it personal. He’s only trying not to upset me, and the thought makes me relax, knowing I’m safe.

* * *

He’s beautiful. Not just handsome or sexy. No, he’s truly beautiful in a way that gets any painter or photographer in ecstasy just by looking at him. If Leonardo da Vinci had known Logan, he would’ve asked him to be the male model for that drawing about the proportions of the human body. What’s it called… damn… Vesuvius Man? Oh, no, that’s a volcano. Uh… Vitruvian Man? Yeah, that’s it. Logan embodies that perfection. I bet my last dime Da Vinci would’ve been pleased to no end to immortalize the man next to me with that sketch. 

I smile at the thought while I stare at all that perfection sprawled over the bed. He’s still asleep, his face turned my way, lips slightly parted, free from any tension and somehow looking innocently kissable. His chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, one hand on his bare stomach, the other fell across my pillow when I went to the bathroom after I woke up. Maybe he sensed me gone, or maybe it was just coincidence and I’m lucky he didn’t hit me in the face. What ever it is, if those claws weren’t ready to gut me, I’d be willing to kiss Sleeping Beauty awake.

Hmm, make that Sleeping Beauty with a ‘morning condition’. 

I’m ignoring that part, of course. I mean, I know how to pitch a tent already, there’s no need to see Logan’s version. Nope, I’m not looking. Not even glancing. I’ll just concentrate on those long, dark lashes of his. And those lips. 

Okay, so my eyes drift a little lower. It’s not that I don’t know what he looks like. I’ve touched him, for Christ’s sake. Helped him when he was cuffed in our cell. I’ve never actually seen him aroused though. Felt him… yeah, and god, it had hurt, but I’ve never seen him.

“You’re succeeding,” a low, lazy voice startles me, and I eyes instantly dart up again. 

“What?” 

He slowly opens one eye and arches the eyebrow. “If you’re trying to stare me awake, you’re succeeding.”

It should be prohibited to look so cuddly and sexy at the same time. 

“I’m sorry. I was thinking you looked like Sleeping Beauty.”

Both eyes examine my sanity right before he stretches. “Sleeping Beauty,” he half yawns, half grunts, and he turns to his stomach to grunt a little more. “You got your stories mixed up.”

Why did he turn around? Is he trying not to embarrass or scare me? I wasn’t really feeling awkward actually. 

“Okay, so which one would be more fitting?” I ask, scooting a little closer, and unexpectedly he drapes one of those long arms around me so I can snuggle up against his side. 

“That favorite of yours. Beauty and the Beast.” He closes his eyes. “But I doubt Beauty would want me after she finds out I’ll never change into a prince.”

Awww, damnit. Where does that come from?

“You’re not a beast, Logan,” I tell him softly, feeling a knot tied in my stomach. 

“I’m sure as hell no beauty.”

Yes, you are. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. You should’ve been Michelangelo’s muse when he shaped David out of marble.

While I’m lost in thought, Logan mumbles, “I woke up too soon.”

“Why?”

“Sleeping Beauty got a kiss, not a stare.”

Is he trying to talk me into kissing him? I almost giggle at the ridiculous thought.

“She didn’t have a temper,” I point out neutrally, feeling his hand slowly rubbing my back through my PJ’s and trying so very hard not to purr.

“You mean claws,” he answers indifferently.

“They go with the whole attitude - oohhmm.” 

Fuck. Did I just moan? 

“You like that?” he asks, half amused, half cautious, and he props himself up while he continues those deliciously slow strokes with the other hand.

“God, yeah,” I sigh, and I almost writhe under his touch. 

He doesn’t answer and I don’t look up, but yeah, this feels really good. I want to start my morning with a back-rub like that every day. 

I crawl a little closer to his chest and nestle into his body heat. He smells so nice and his chest hair tickles in my face, making me giggle a little. 

“What?” he asks, his voice deep and laced with a tenderness I’ve never really heard before.

“Chest hair. First time you’ve slept without a shirt when I’m around.”

“Is that okay?”

“Hmm,” I murmur, “Use your nose. What does my scent tell you?”

After a short pause, he sounds strangely insecure, even in my drowsy condition. “You’re not scared.”

I lift my head to stare into those amazing golden eyes, searching for the glint of forest green that makes him Logan. *My* Logan. 

“That’s right. Get it into that thick skull of yours. Now, let’s snuggle up and snooze a little more. You got me all sleepy again.” 

I turn around to cuddle up, my back against his half raised chest. I really do trust him again. It doesn’t spark any unpleasant feelings at all. The lower part of his body doesn’t touch me though. I don’t know what I’ll do if I’d feel that part of him again, but it’s not really relevant right now. 

When I reach out behind me and drape his arm over myself, he asks, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

I growl. 

“Shush. You’re spoiling my girlish fantasies.”

He chuckles and holds me, and I surrender to another hour of blissful sleep.

* * *

“This is the place where we argued about Alkali Lake,” I say. 

We’re at the picnic-stop where I told him I was going to ask Scott to pick me up so he could check out the lead the Professor had given him. 

“I hurt your arm,” my buddy answers, wearing the cowboy hat he got from Tyee. I found it in the back of the truck and plopped it on his head when we were still in the car. It’s tilted down over his eyes, making it impossible for me to read his face.

I hunker down to pick a flower. “It was nothing.” 

“I should’ve let you contact Cyke.”

Falling back into the grass, I warn, “Those thoughts aren’t doing you any good. We can’t change history.” 

He doesn’t answer. I decide to turn my attention to the sky instead and let him be his surly self.

The clouds look happy today. Sometimes they look threatening, but now, now they look nice and fluffy. I hope they’ll stay that way for a while. I used to watch them a lot as a child. Just lying in the grass, feeling the sun warming my skin, making plans for the future. I was such an optimistic kid with so much faith in the world. Faith in people. Maybe I was naïve and too optimistic about it all then, but, damnit, I want to have faith again, just like the Professor. 

How does he manage to hold on to his beliefs? What keeps him so strong and determined? Is it because he still sees the hope in other people’s minds? If so, what could be my drive? What is powerful enough to keep me on track? Could it be love? Is that why I’m dragging Logan along with me? Do I still believe in ‘love conquers all'? I don’t know. 

Turning onto my stomach and eyeing the man I’m thinking about, I realize he’s awfully quiet. He’d casually leaning against a tree, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, and chewing on a straw. A twenty-first century cowboy, looking way too good. Any other man would look completely ridiculous with that hat, but he just seems to make it a fashion statement. It goes so well with the rest of this clothes. 

I sigh and turn back again. I’m not going to fall for him again. This is all too complicated. I have to keep myself busy with other stuff. Pining is a waste of time. 

I spot a pretty interesting looking tree further along. It’s splitting up in four big branches and there seems to be some sort of platform in between. I remember I used to climb trees like that. 

Why not climb it now?

I get up and can’t hide a grin when I walk up to it, eyeing the platform. It isn’t that high, but there isn’t an easy way to get up there. I succeed in hopping up a bit, but when I’m almost there, my hand slips and I fall down. 

“Oomph! Shit.”

I land on my back and for a moment all wind is knocked out of me, but then I breathe in deep and giggle. I’m such a dork. I can’t even climb a tree anymore. I think I’ll blame the cast for this minor setback because my ego can’t handle it otherwise.

“Need a hand?” Logan asks with a boyish smirk, looking down on me and still chewing that damn straw. 

“What took you so long, sugar?” I drawl, grinning back at him and holding out my hand to let him pull me back to my feet. 

“Turn around.”

I do as I’m told, and then his hands are on my hips and he’s lifting me up while my poor heart skips a beat. There isn’t much time for swooning or fearing though. Climbing trees is serious business. I grab one of the branches and climb up a little more. 

When I reach the platform, I look down and ask, “You want to come up too?”

My cowboy tilts his head and narrows his eyes against the sun. “Is there enough space?”

“Sure,” I answer, huddling up against one of the branches.

Logan’s up in a jiffy and straddles one of the branches, his long legs dangling in the air. For a while we sit in a comforting silence and we watch people stopping at the parking lot for a picnic. I can’t stop smiling. This is so great. I feel like a twelve-year-old in a tree-house again. I should’ve brought cookies.

Then, my attention goes out to something crawling down to the right. It turns out to be a three inch, bright green, huge caterpillar, and I shriek a very girlish, “Eeeep!” 

I reach out to slap it away, but Logan lunges at me and catches my hand before I can hit the monstrous creature. 

“Wait. We’re the intruders here.”

I make a face at him, but he’s kind of serious so I roll my eyes and know he’s right. 

“Fine. But he isn’t going to bite me, right?” I ask, and it makes him laugh while he lets go of my hand and sits on the branch again. 

“It’s a caterpillar, Marie. Not a tiger.”

I watch how all those little feet of the creepy crawler move like a wave. “Whatever. With my luck, he turned carnivorous and is ready to bite a big chunk out of my butt.”

Again he laughs, showing me those perfect white teeth every dentist would get off on, and seeing the playful sparkle in his eyes, my poor heart instantly forgets it’s pace. He looks so cute when he’s having fun. Really having fun. I don’t even mind he’s laughing because I’m behaving like a city-twit. 

I stand up to make room for the humongous green beast continuing its way to wherever it needs to go. I’m still not entirely convinced it isn’t planning a surprise attack on my butt, so it’s best to just get out of here. 

“Crap,” I mutter, eyeing the ground. “Can’t you climb down first and catch me?”

Lighting a cigar, he teases between two puffs, “Thought you wanted to be an X-Man.”

He’s right. I’m a badass. I should be able to get out of this jungle all on my own, but maybe I should consider the possibilities first. I don’t feel like shuffling backwards on my tummy over the platform while that enormous insect is still taking a casual stroll in front of my face, so I guess it’s best to just jump. It’s not that high, and besides, knowing the parking lot crowd can watch me struggling with my ass in the air isn’t temping either. A leap of faith it is. 

I jump and land with a very loud thud on my feet, cursing gravity. An old man almost jumps out of his skin when I suddenly appear from out of nowhere, a hand on his heart, and when he screams, I hear Logan unsuccessfully trying to hold back a snort of laughter high up in the tree. 

“Shut up!” I hiss between clenched teeth while I try to show grandpa my loveliest smile, but that only makes him laugh harder.

Grandpa turns around and runs as fast as his old legs can carry him, and it’s such a funny sight, I burst out in laughter as well. 

Flopping back into the grass, I close my eyes and just enjoy this feeling. It's been far too long.


	33. Chapter 33

Today was an okay day, I think. 

Logan still keeps his distance now and then, but he was a more relaxed after climbing that tree, and things felt almost natural for the rest of the day. We drove up the next hotel, so here we are now. This is the room where he woke me up by telling me I had to get my cute ass out of bed. *Cute* ass, he’d said. He’d growled playfully and nuzzled my hair. He even told me I smelled so nice he could bite me. 

Well, he did. Eventually. 

But let’s not go there.

I just finished a phone call with Jubes. She wanted to know whether I was still alive and what the hell Charles had meant with ‘Logan and Rogue have some important matters to work out.’ I didn’t tell her much of course. I just said we need some time to cope with everything we’ve been through, and that Logan still owes me a trip to Anchorage. Surprisingly enough, she accepted the story without any complaints. 

I’m glad she called. It’s nice to know we’re being watched. And speaking of watching… I really wish Logan would stop zapping through all the channels. It’s driving me nuts. I guess it’s a guy’s thing, because Scott, Bobby and John all do very the same thing when they get a hold of the remote. I once asked Scott how he could stand all the broken sentences and random images, and he said it was relaxing. 

Right. A guy’s thing, I’ll tell you. 

Maybe Logan senses my annoyance, or maybe he’s just feeling restless, because suddenly he turns off the TV and stands up to look out of the window instead. 

“You okay?” I ask, and I scan his body language for clues. 

“Yeah.” 

“I thought we were going to be honest with each other.” 

He sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You think I can’t handle it?”

“No. *I* can’t.”

Oh. 

I wasn’t expecting an answer like that, but before I can come up with something, he brings up the subject we’ve been avoiding so far. 

“You should’ve told me sooner.”

“Why? So you could’ve hauled your ass away from me in a blink of an eye? I don’t think so.”

I focus my attention on a crack in the ceiling. 

“Maybe it would’ve been easier. For you.”

A dragon with fangs. The crack looks like a dragon with fangs. 

“Nah,” I tell him. “Easy's for pussies.”

He chuckles and I can hear him move around while I close one eye so the dragon looks more like a crocodile. 

Thinking about the last few days in the Mansion, I say, “It might’ve been easier for the rest though. I’ve been such a bitch. I can’t believe I hit you when you were only trying to talk to me.”

“You had every right.”

“No, I hadn’t. Not in that moment.” When I turn to look at him, he’s standing in the middle of the room, doing a tai chi workout. He doesn’t seem to be in an arguing mood, so I just admire the view instead. 

His feline grace still surprises me even though I’ve seen him doing it lots of times. This is Chen style, the more difficult version with a deeper stance, and the pacing varies from almost a standstill to explosive power moves. He’s taught me a few forms in Yang, the basic, more continuous version, and I got the biggest thrill out of it when we both moved like one. 

Seeing him move so elegantly, I suddenly feel like joining, and the moment I get up from the bed, he changes his stance into the one I know and says, “Birds Tail Right.” 

He smoothly stretches both arms in front of him, and I know what comes next so I make sure I’m in the right position. Slowly, we both circle our arms at the same time, and feeling an energy shimmering through me that has nothing to do with the Chinese exercise, I can’t hold back a silly grin. 

Slowly and evenly, we shift from one position into another, centering our minds on the forms and fending off all thoughts. With Logan’s confident ease I feel strong too, and after we’ve finished the closing form, he turns toward me and takes the beginning stance again. Realizing he’s going to mirror all the forms, just like he did when we did our workout at the Mansion, I feel my cheeks redden from excitement. Our eyes lock, and while we go through the forms, I have all the confidence in the world our friendship is going to make it.

* * *

“You know, sugar, I didn’t really act like it, but I’m glad you came to the lake to say goodbye.”

Logan’s just finished his second plate of bacon and eggs. He seems to have his appetite back, but he could still gain a little more weight. So do I, as a matter of fact, and I gnaw very unlady-like on a peanut butter sandwich. 

Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he says, “I dropped by to ask you along.”

My eyes snap up. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Thought you needed to get away.”

“Oh, fuck,” I groan, swallowing down the bite and rewinding that awful night in my head. “I totally jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“It did make an interesting conversation.” 

He smirks and snatches the sandwich from my plate. 

“Hey, that’s mine!” I reach over but he bites a big chunk out it before he lets me have it again. 

Eyeing my leftover sandwich, I quirk an eyebrow before shooting him a threatening glare. 

He doesn’t seem impressed though. The smirk doesn’t leave his handsome face as he chews fearlessly. “I always had a soft spot for spitfires, darlin’.” 

Wow. This could be an interesting day.

* * *

“--you're lost and about to give up, 'cause your best just ain't good enough, and you feel the world has grown cold--”

I’m humming along with the radio, tapping my foot on the rhythm of the Four Tops. My dad’s an Oldies-fan, and I always liked this song. Never knew how much it fits my relationship with Logan though. Not until now. 

“I’ll be there to love and comfort you,” I sing softly, watching the landscape pass by. 

We’ve been driving in comfortable silence, and I’m really having a good time. Well, okay, I’ve been singing, and Logan is enduring it with his sensitive hearing. Poor man. 

Wait a minute, why are we pulling over?

As soon as we’ve stopped, Logan leans back in his seat, his hands still on the lower half of the steering wheel. “Blueprint,” he says, sounding a little uncomfortable, and I look around.

Oh, right. This is the place where I’ve told him about the creepy truck-guy. I reach for the door handle and grab my coat before I jump out.

Yep, this is the place alright. Staring at the direction I tried to flee, I hear Logan coming up behind me. 

“Feel like running again?”

“Nah.” I grin. “Remember those guys who wanted to help?”

Lighting up a cigar, he chuckles but doesn’t say anything. 

It’s kinda weird to be here again. Oh, there’s the spot I threw up. Gross.

I take a deep breath and lean against the car. “So, here is my confessional chair. Thanks for remembering.”

He moves to stand next to me. “Hard to forget.”

“How about we reverse roles this time? You tell me what’s bugging you and I’ll listen.”

He stays quiet, just like I expected, and I’m about to say we should get going again, when he reveals, “I killed them.”

The lack of emotion in his voice grabs my attention more than his words, but something tells me I can’t react if I don’t want him to close up even more. I keep my gaze locked on the horizon and try to think of something rational to say.

I already knew, didn’t I? Somewhere deep inside I know Logan was the executioner of the other prisoners. I just never really wanted to think about it. Stryker forced him to, using me as a control panel. He’s the one who killed Derek. 

Oh, God…

I must’ve made a sound, because Logan cringes away from me. 

“Don’t,” I snap, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket. “He made you choose, right? Me or them.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t turn around to face me either, but I know anyway. I know, and I would’ve done the same. I would’ve killed them all to keep him safe. The knowledge makes me feel cold to the bone.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him quietly, and I pull him back next to me again because I really don’t know what to do otherwise. There are so many questions tumbling over each other inside my head and I can’t ask any of them. I wouldn’t know where to start.

He’d never answer anyway. 

“I tried to hate you,” he says eventually, but there’s no sign of anger or grief in his voice. 

Fighting back those stupid tears, I nod. “I tried to hate you, too. Guess we both failed, huh?” Something inside my chest aches because what a fucked up bunch we are. I could really use a hug.

I glace up and know he’s not going to reach out to me right now, but he looks like he could use one as well, so I grab his arm and drape it around my shoulders while I press myself against his side. For a moment he seems uncertain, but then he pulls me close, holding a forgotten cigar in the other hand as he whispers into my hair, “Thank you.” 

Neither of us moves for a very long time.

* * *

After Logan’s composed confession, we eventually drove off and he was quiet and withdrawn the rest of the day. I had a lot to think about as well, so it wasn’t awkward or anything. When we arrived at the hotel, he booked us two separate rooms, just like the first time we were here, and I told him I was going to take a walk. 

I did some shopping, went to a laundromat, grabbed some dinner and tried to gather my thoughts. I may have bitched to the waitress, but I’ve left her quite a tip to make up, and when I came back, I knocked on Logan’s door to let him know I was back. I heard the shower running, so I went to my room, prepared a bath and took some quality pampering time myself. After that, I turned on the TV and flopped down on my bed to watch a romantic comedy. 

Now, after sighing wistfully because boy and girl are going to live happily ever after, I’m about to knock on Logan’s door and realize I forgot to put on my socks. Oh, well. I’ll snatch a pair from him. 

“It’s open,” comes the gruff reply, and I peek around the cheap wood board door. 

“Hey, can I come in?”

“Sure.”

He’s stretched out on the bed, arms folded behind his head, wearing black track pants and a white T-shirt. 

“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, closing the door and leaning back.

“What if Stryker’s right?”

Feeling this conversation might be important, I push myself away from the door and walk over to his bag. 

“About what?” I ask as casually as possible while I ruffle through his personal stuff. 

“What if I don’t have a past? What if I *am* a weapon? A product of some earlier fucking breeding program?” He spits out the last words, and the room seems to be buzzing with his bottled up frustration and anger. 

It scares me a little, but I’m not going to show him, so I cross the room and sit down on the end of the bed, pulling on the socks that are way too big.

“Logan, you know the creep was full of shit. You’re not a weapon. You’re a man. A human being with a family that once loved you.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause you don’t chase what you don’t miss, and you don’t miss what you never had.”

Slowly, those breath-taking, haunted eyes drift my way, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither do I. I just hope he senses my love for him and how much it hurts me to see him this lost. 

He’s the first to look away, and he sits up straight, his bare feet on the shabby carpet, broad shoulders slumped down miserably. “Sorry for being such an ass today.”

I puff, waving my hand in the air. “I’m used to that by now.”

His head perks up as he turns around to arch an eyebrow at me. “You’re used to me being an ass?”

“Yep.”

He growls a little, but it’s more a frustrated rumble in general, so I’m not impressed. 

He stands up and I eye the spot he just left. I bet the bed is still warm from his body heat, and I crawl over, finding out I’m right. Ignoring Mr. Hunkiness who seems to plunder the minibar, I move the pillows around and wiggle my ass down into the mattress to make me a snug spot. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, and when I look up, he’s eyeing me with his mouth quirked into a faint smile while he’s holding a bottle of diet coke and a beer. 

“Getting comfy,” I say, frowning. 

I mean, isn’t it obvious?

“That’s *my* ‘bed.”

“So? There’s still plenty of room for you.” 

Watching the small strip I left for him, he mumbles, “Right.”

“Well, alright.” I roll my eyes and scoot over a little. “Happy now?”

He hands over my drink and sits down, but when I rearrange the pillows and cuddle up to his side, I almost push him out again. 

“Marie,” he warns, one hand on the ground to prevent himself from falling, and I show him my best pout. 

“What?”

Growling, he puts down his bottle on the nightstand, and before I know what he’s up to, he turns around and starts tickling my sides. 

“Aaahaa!” I squeal, giggling. “Don’t you - whahaha!”

“Promise you’ll behave?”

Snickering, I try to fight him off and spill my diet coke all over the place. “Let me – whaha! Let me think about that.” 

Of course, that’s not the answer he was waiting for, so the torture continues. 

“Yes!” I yell, snorting with laughter and still trying to squirm away, “Yes, I’ll behave!”

“Good girl.” He let’s go of me, but as I scramble up I accidentally knee him in a very painful place. 

“Oompf,” he groans, covering the inured area with both hands, and I instantly remember how pissed off he was when this happened in the cage in Laughlin City.

“Oh, God. Sorry!” 

“You should’ve done that sooner,” he grunts. “Very effective.”

Um, does he mean just now or in our cell? 

“I was on my stomach, remember?”

Poof! Gone is the moment. I guess he meant just now, when he was tickling.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and I roll my eyes, leaning over to put away my half empty bottle and wiping my hands on my already stained shirt. 

“Whatever. Consider this a payback.”

Sitting up, he replies angrily, “It’s not enough.” 

I pull him back into the pillows and strategically place my knee between his thighs, hovering over him on all fours. “Fine,” I smirk. “Want another one?”

He stares up at me with that scanning look again, and I patiently wait until he’s sure I’m really not scared or freaking out or whatever he expects me to. 

The half-smile appears again, and he holds up both hands in surrender. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Thought so, yeah.” I sit back and check my shirt. “Ugh, do you mind if I borrow one of yours? I kinda feel like Miss wet T-shirt here.”

“You didn’t ask for my socks and I’m not in a position to refuse you anything right now.”

Oh, right. My knee is still down there. 

“Anything?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows suggestively, and it’s making him smile for real. 

“Get that shirt.”

Well, alright. 

Instead of picking something clean, I change into the flannel he wore today. It still smells like him and I can’t help but deeply inhale his scent as I button up. He doesn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m acting like a smitten puppy right now. Not that I care. I’ve got his shirt. Heh.

When I crawl over him to my side again, his hands protectively cover his groin. 

“Hey,” I laugh. “I promised I’d behave, right?”

“Marie, you *never* behave,” he shoots back, but those eyes are a pretty shade of hazel and they’re laughing too this time.

I cuddle up and sigh content. “That, I learned from the best, sugar.”


	34. Chapter 34

When you’re in a restaurant, and you order a steak, you expect the meat to be cut-able with a normal knife, right? I mean, it doesn’t have to be a first class steak. As long as I don’t have to chew on it like bubblegum it’s fine be me, but at *least* I have to be able to *cut* a piece before I can *chew* on it, don’t I?

“Marie, you’re growling.”

Holding up my so called cutlery, I hiss, “*This* piece of shit is a fucking *paperknife*.”

Logan thinks my irritation is amusing. “Here, try mine.”

Frantically trying to cut through the meat again, I grunt, “It sucks just the same. Crappy piece of junk.”

Sighing, he reaches over the table and takes my plate. 

“What are you do--,” I start, but then I see him pop a blade for about two inches, and I gasp, “Don’t do that. It hurts.”

“Hearing you rant about your knife hurts my ears even more. Now, shut up and eat your dinner.”

Eyeing my plate, my meat now cut into neat edible portions, I groan, “Great. Thanks, dad.” 

He holds a napkin between the first and second knuckle. “Welcome.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

He takes away the cloth and the cut’s almost gone. 

“Did you sleep last night?” I ask, because the wound still doesn’t heal with its usual speed. 

Before he can answer, a shadow appears over our table. We both look up, seeing a man in his early thirties holding on to a briefcase for dear life. 

“Excuse me for interrupting,” he says with a pleasant voice and turning to Logan, “but does your last name happen to be Logan?” 

I see Logan’s defenses rising, and I realize I’m doing exactly the same. Whatever comes next, I’m ready.

“What’s it to you?” my buddy almost growls, scanning the intruder with full alert senses. 

The man doesn’t seem all too impressed. He smiles clumsily and says, “My aunt runs a hotel in Alberta and I used to spend my summers there as a kid.”

Logan quickly glances my way and I try to give him a small shrug to indicate I don’t have a clue either. 

The friendly intruder doesn’t seem to notice our confusion and continues his explanation without a care in the world, it seems. 

“There’s this spooky ghost story going around. One of the characters – a real bully as I recall, is a guy named Thomas Logan. He used to be the groundkeeper of the estate. Or a gardener, something like that. There are pictures in the gallery, and well, you look just like him. You could be his twin.”

Thomas Logan? Alberta? What’s he talking about? Who is he, anyway? 

Watching the man at our table, I see him shrug for his somewhat jumbled clarification. Somehow I find him endearing. There’s something naive about him and I smile despite the possible importance of his words. 

Logan doesn’t seem to be affected by the sudden possibilities though. Scowling, he says, “Sorry, bub, never heard of him.”

“Oh, well,” the man says, looking a bit disappointed. “I’m sorry then. I just thought, you’re a spitting image and so…” He shrugs again and clutches onto his briefcase a little tighter. “Are you sure? You could be related.”

Recognizing Logan’s growing annoyance, I turn to the appealing guy and tell him, “You know what? We’ll check it out. Who knows, he might be an ancestor or something.”

“Yeah.” He nods enthusiastically. “You should. It’s called the Howlett Estate. The locals call it Howling Estate because of the things that happened, and… well, it’s worth visiting.” He seems to remember we were having dinner, so he smiles another endearing smile and steps back. “Sorry. I’ll leave you two to your dinner now. Enjoy.” He turns to leave, but just when I think that was it, he hastily steps back. “Oh, and say ‘hi’ to my aunt for me.”

Giving him my warmest smile, I nod. “Will do, mister.”

I watch him leave for real this time, and when he’s out of hearing distance, I check Logan’s reaction. “So? What do you think?”

He’s chewing his dinner, hiding behind his poker face. “Nothing.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No.”

Staring at him in disbelief, I feel my temper bubbling up. “Damnit, Logan. This might be what you’ve been waiting for all your life.”

Unmoved by my outburst, he takes another bite. “And maybe it’s a set up.”

“Oh, come on. The guy was sincere. We *have* to check this out.”

“No,” he says with little room for an argument. “We have to work out our problems.”

I’m almost choking in restraint hysteria. “So? We can work them out while we’re driving to Alberta. Doesn’t the Howlett Estate doesn’t ring a bell? Or the name Thomas?”

“No.”

I can’t believe this. I *really* can’t believe this. Is he as calm as he looks? Has he lost his fucking mind? This might be *it*. The lead he’s been chasing all these years and *now* he doesn’t give a fuck? 

Suddenly having enough of this stupidity, I say, “I’m going to find out. We’re heading for Alberta.”

“Marie--”

“No,” I tell him just as firmly as he did to me. “If you’re not coming with me, I’m going alone. I mean it, Logan. I really do.”

I only get a growl for an answer.

* * *

Does he like me? I mean, really like me, as a person? 

I don’t know. Sometimes I think he does. Sometimes I think he enjoys my company, but then again, what do I know? He never flinched away from my skin and he tells me personal things, but maybe it’s because he has a healing thing and I know all his crap anyway. And what am I to him? Some sort of protégé? A friend? And if I’m a friend, am I in the same league as Tyee and Vivian?

We’re heading in their direction after another argument about checking out the possible lead, and now we’ve been quiet for the past two hours. I’m pretending to read my book while Logan’s driving. 

I’m not really sure who won the last fight, but I meant it when I told him I was going to check out the lead. As soon as we’re in a hotel, I’m going to call Jubes, Kitty and Faye to let them check out every possible piece of information about the Howlett Estate in Alberta. There should be information on the internet. I don’t want to march right into the arms of another weirdo who thinks it’s okay to use Logan or me for his own pathetic purpose. I’ve been there too many times, and none of those were enjoyable, thank you very much. 

Logan told me he will check out the lead once we’re back at the Mansion because we need to focus on other things right now, but I don’t want to wait. I know I’m being a pain in the ass, but he is too. He’s been chasing this for as long as he remembers. This shouldn’t be about me.

Ugh, what am I doing here, anyway? I really should let him go. I feel like I’m keeping him caged. He shouldn’t have to deal with me and my stupid problems. Ever since he met me things have been really crappy for him. I stole his privacy, his freedom – he even lost his truck and all his stuff just because he gave me a ride, and let’s not even discuss the whole Alkali Lake fiasco. And what did I do? I made him take me with him once again. 

But then again, he said he came to the lake to ask me along, right? He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t like me. Or maybe, maybe it was just another attempt to rescue me. He saw I was going under, and once again he was the only one brave enough to save my sorry ass. 

Sighing, I rest my head against the window and close my eyes. I guess I’m feeling melodramatic again. I should stop questioning this odd friendship of ours. He’s here, isn’t he? With me, putting up with me once again. 

“I’m sorry about this morning,” he breaks the long silence, but I keep my eyes closed and concentrate on the cool glass against my forehead. 

He *always* apologizes. I somehow make him do that. I hate it. I hate the way he always feels guilty for something that isn’t his fault entirely. I’m just as stubborn, maybe even more so. I’m not a saint. I’m doing things wrong too. Especially when he’s around. I don’t have a fucking clue how to behave most of the time. 

“Marie?”

I’m on the verge of crying, but I fight back my tears and say, “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“You okay?”

The tone in his voice tells me he’s really worried, and something tugs at my heartstrings. I don’t want him to feel this way. 

“No, but I don’t want to talk about it. Just… just let me… for now, okay?”

I feel the first tears escaping, and I decide to surrender to the heavy weight on my heart. What the hell, it’s not like he’s never seen me cry before. 

Realizing Logan is pulling over, I say, “Don’t stop.”

“Marie--”

“Don’t stop!” I snap, deliberately avoiding his scanning stare, and maybe he’s finally getting tired of me, because he gives up trying to reason and does what he’s told. 

We drive for another half an hour in relative silence, my occasional sniffles are the only sound. Somehow, they make the quiet even heavier. I don’t even know *why* I’m crying in the first place, but I guess I just feel like it, and it’s nice to get it out. 

Finally feeling a bit less moody, I wipe my face and try to find my regular breathing rhythm again. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks quietly, and I shake my head. 

“No. I’m just… sad, that’s all.”

Again we are surrounded by silence, and this time I’m the one to cut it. 

“I want you to be happy.”

Seeing him crinkling his eyebrows in confusion, I explain, “I want you to find what you’re looking for. I want you to be with people who love you. With possible family, and friends. They might be there, in Alberta.”

“They’re here, in the car,” he says, and even though it instantly warms my heart, I also feel guilty. 

“Don’t let *me* be the one who’s holding you down.”

“You’re not.”

“But why don’t you want to go then? I don’t get it.”

Sighing, he again pulls over to a parking lot, and I’m bracing myself for something awful. Every time we pull over like this, shit hits the fan. I wonder what’s going to happen this time.

He gets out of the car and I’m not sure if I should follow. Maybe he just wants to blow off some steam. 

When I feel a little bump, I know he’s leaning against the truck, waiting for me, so I grab my coat and walk around to join him. 

After what seems like an eternity, he says, “I’m scared.”

Not expecting ever to hear those words coming from him, I look up in a complete surprise. “Why?”

Meeting my eyes briefly, he sighs. “I’ve found out some things at Alkali Lake. I don’t know if I want to know more. If I can handle more. I’m not the person a family is waiting for.”

“Oh, but you are!” I say, stepping in front of him to meet his eyes. 

“The things I’ve done--”

“No, damnit,” I reproach, frustrated by his self-loath and slapping his arm. “Stop thinking like that.”

He doesn’t answer, and there are so many thoughts flowing through my mind, I don’t know what to say. Finally, I settle for a very illogical, “How can they *not* love you? I mean, *I* do.”

“God knows why,” he mumbles tiredly and scrubs a hand over his face. 

He’s probably right, because I sure as hell don’t have a fucking clue either. It’s just *there*. Always. There’s nothing logical about it.

“Yeah,” I agree, bending my head in defeat, mentally kicking myself for not having an answer to that one. 

I feel his arms around me as he gently pulls me a little closer. 

“I’m glad you do,” he says, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Keeps me sane.”

My heart skips a beat, and then starts hammering. I know he’s feeling it against his stomach but I don’t care. I cuddle up for a moment and allow myself to indulge, but then I tilt my head to check his eyes. 

There’s a worried loneliness behind the hazel. I’d do anything to take that away. 

Without really thinking, I caress his hair and cup the back of his head to pull him down a little. Rising to my toes, I gently press a kiss on his cheek before resting my face against his chest again. 

It’s not the first time I’ve given him kiss him like this, but now I’m sure he’s checking my scent, my heartbeat, my breathing, and he doesn’t seem to have an appropriate response. It takes him forever to say something. 

“It’s getting late.” 

“Oh, right. We should be going,” I say, drawing back from the embrace, still feeling the warmth where his skin touched my lips.

“You okay?” he asks, and a sudden edginess makes him look really young somehow. Almost… like he just got his first kiss or something. Which is kind of silly. I mean, it’s Logan. A chaste, friendly smooch usually doesn’t throws him like that. Still, the thought makes me grin. 

“Fine.” 

It’s probably my imagination, but he doesn’t seem all too eager to get going. He turns away quite reluctantly and opens his side of the truck. “You want to play pool tonight? I still owe you a rematch.”

Holding on to the grin, I walk over to my side and hop in. “I’m going to kick your ass this time. What do I get when I win?”

“My ego,” he answers dryly. 

“Humph, that’s not worth the trouble.”

Starting the truck and checking the mirror, he comes up with a way better offer. “Okay, you think of something.”

“Ha!” I cheer, feeling totally reckless all of a sudden. “Ever had sex on a pool table?”

The poor man almost chokes to death.


	35. Chapter 35

What time is it? Where am I? Oh yeah, hotel, road trip, Anchorage. 

I stretch lazily and clutch onto my pillow. It’s still dark. I’m in no condition to get up yet. It’s way too early. I’m trying to ignore the fact that I desperately need to pee, but I’m afraid I can’t delay it much longer. Crap. It’s cold out there. 

I didn’t get any pool table sex yesterday. I kept staring at Logan’s ass and lost concentration completely. It’s pathetic, I know. Where’s that gorgeous man of mine anyway? Let me think… oh, right, he’s in another room. 

Hmm, maybe I can rush to the toilet and then pay him a visit. With a little luck, I can sneak into his bed without waking him. Yeah, brilliant plan, especially considering this ungodly hour. 

I get up, do my thing in the bathroom, and then I peek around the woodwork, standing in the doorway that’s connecting our rooms. He didn’t close the door last night, and it gave me warm fuzzies because that means he didn’t want to shut me out. Or so I tell myself. 

I scan his form in the dark for any signs of a nightmare. 

His breathing is a little shallow, and he seems slightly restless, but maybe, if he senses my presence, he’ll calm down again. Should I take the risk? 

Eyeing the half-naked God tangled in his sheets over there, I’m tempted to say it might be worth it to get a gash or two, but no arteries, please. I’m kind of fond of my vital organs as well.

Oh, what the hell. I’m fearless. An X-Man to be. I just hope he’s familiar with my scent by now.

He doesn’t wake up when I walk around the bed. There’s a twitch of his hand, a sharp inhale, but I’m keeping my distance, alert to jump back if he suddenly shows a need to impale me like a chicken on a spit. 

Crap, the thought of three blades up my ass really doesn’t do my bravery any good. I should concentrate on my mission and don’t lose the objective: Sleep Next To Stunning Man. 

Right. 

I lift up the covers and slide underneath, entering his personal space. He unexpectedly turns my way and I’m just about get a heart attack, but he only sighs and continues his beauty sleep. 

Pfew. 

I manage to crawl next to him and scoot a little closer. 

“Hey,” he softly greets me, his voice all sleepy and sexy and deep, and I feel a little guilty for waking him, but also kind of relieved. 

“Hey. Can I stay here for a while?”

“Sure. Nightmare?”

“Nah. Just don’t want to be alone.” 

“Okay. Let me grab something to wear.”

Oh… he’s naked?

I back off to give him some privacy, and he entangles from the sheets, wearing boxers only. Tight, black boxers. I never saw his underwear now that I think about it. He was either naked or wearing pants. 

“Don’t worry. It’s fine,” I say, stopping him from getting up and gently pulling him back into bed by his arm.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” 

I make myself comfortable and hope he’ll scoot a little closer. It doesn’t look like I’m having any luck though. He lies on his back, suddenly looking a bit too contemplative for someone who just woke up. I don’t think he’s up for a cuddle this morning. Oh, well. Maybe next time.

I’m about to close my eyes and find out if I can doze off again, when he asks, “Did you talk to someone? About what happened?”

“Faye knows,” I say guardedly, not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing in his book.

“Everything?”

“Sort of. But she got it all when she transferred my thoughts and feelings to the Professor.”

He seems to think about that. 

“It’s okay, right?” I ask. “Faye guessed it herself, and it’s kind of hard to keep things from the Professor. I wanted him to understand.”

“Yeah. It’s your call.”

“Well, not entirely. You’re in this thing too,” I point out, but he just stays quiet. 

I try see his face in the shadows. Something’s bothering him, that’s for sure. Is he brooding again? Feeling guilty?

“Okay,” I sigh. “What’s up?”

“Why aren’t you angry with me?”

“What, you mean right now?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I don’t *feel* angry.”

“You should.”

I shake up my pillow and turn around, my back to him. “Fine. I’ll be mad when I wake up then. ‘Night.”

“Marie, I’m serious.”

I roll my eyes. “Me too. Besides, I’ve been angry lots of times already.”

“You never projected it at me.”

Now I can’t hold back a nasty chuckle. “I slapped you in the face and I was a total bitch at the lake.”

“That was indirect anger.”

“Whatever.”

He’s shifting behind me, moving closer. I can feel his body heat and wonder if he’s going to hold me now. “We have to talk about it someday.” 

His soft, deep voice sounds almost seducing, but for some reason it just pisses me off. I wasn’t prepared for a serious talk before it’s even dawn. 

“I’m trying to get some sleep here, not to get in touch with my feelings. As I recall, it’s not really your specialty either.”

There. That should do it. 

I take a deep breath and try to relax, but of course, now I *am* mad. I also feel guilty, because there’s nothing wrong with his emotions. They’re just as intense as mine. At the least. 

Great. Can I still change to the claws up my ass? 

“I’m sorry,” I apologize grudgingly. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, you did. But it’s okay,” says evenly, playing with a lock of my hair. 

Great. He’s all calm and I’m worked up, and I really don’t want to have this conversation right now. We’ve been so good at avoiding it so far. 

I close my eyes and brace myself. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet. It’ll be awkward. For the both of us.”

“I know.”

Crap, he’s right. Well, you know what? Fuck it. Fuck. It. We have to talk about it eventually, so why not now while it’s still dark? It’ll add an intimacy that’ll probably make it easier.

“Okay. Fine.” I turn around again, pulling up the blankets as some of shield. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

And so I start talking.

I tell him about his burned skin, about wrapping him in the last blanket, and about the changed color of his eyes. I tell him I was taken aback by his looks without the facial hair, and how it made him look so different. So much younger. So handsome.

I expect him to sputter, but he just looks back at me and listens, his eyes barely visible. I’m glad, because I’m going to be really honest. Really, really honest. About everything. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.

Recalling the memories I usually try to ignore, I describe his backing up into a corner and my attempt to make contact. I don’t hold back how scared I was, and he understands because he gives me an encouraging nod but stays silent. I explain why I wasn’t wearing that many clothes, and the joy I felt for being able to touch him without my gloves.

Feeling a blush creeping over my face, I confess I got carried away a bit. Well, make that a lot. Still, he lets me talk and doesn’t interrupt. I tell him my touches didn’t leave him unaffected, and that makes him look away for a moment, but when I tell him I was aroused as well, his surprised gaze instantly warms my skin even more. 

With my eyes closed, I whisper, “Just when I wanted to draw back, you decided to… well, jump me, I guess. I fought with all I had, but you’re so strong. I broke my hand when I punched you in the jaw. It didn’t even slow you down.”

Oh. That came out a little accusing.

I clear my throat and hope to keep my emotions under control. I’m still kind of calm, considering the importance of all this. I’ll just try to keep it clinical. No real feelings. Just facts.

“When I finally managed to kick you back, I turned around to crawl away – that’s how I ended up on my stomach. You pinned me down again, and I bumped my head really hard on the floor. The world kind of faded a little. And then I felt you… you know, down there. The blanket had fallen off and my cloak was up.”

My heart is suddenly pounding wildly and I can’t help but tense up at the memory. I check to see if he’s still watching me, hoping he didn’t notice, but his vision is better than mine and I’m pretty sure he did. Even in the dark I can make out a trail of a single tear on his face. Somehow that makes it easier for me. It’s like we’re really in this together.

Holding his gaze, I whisper calmly, “It took three thrusts to enter. All the way.”

He clenches his eyes shut, swallowing hard. 

“I think I lost my connection with reality then,” I say quietly, closing my eyes as well because his anguish is too real. “It felt so weird. The pain… it was overwhelming. Smothering, somehow. I just sort of passed out while I remained conscious at the same time. I knew what was going on, and yet, it didn’t feel like it was happening to *me*. I don’t know how long it took for you to… to finish, but after you did, you collapsed on top of me and I just… passed out.”

I open my eyes and see him staring at me with the most painful expression I’ve ever seen. He’s strangely calm. 

We watch each other in silence and I wonder what he’s thinking. I can ask, I suppose, but I don’t want to. When I finally open my mouth again, I say, “Your turn.”

He’s trying to gather his thoughts, and after a few attempts to say something, he finally asks, “How bad was it? The… pain?”

Honest. I have to be honest. 

“On a scale from one to ten, I’d say… twelve.”

A strangled “Oh, God” is his reply, and I can’t contain the tears anymore. Still, we have to struggle through, so I stay quiet until he’s ready to go on. 

“You said… no permanent damage, right?”

“Yeah. Well, other than tearing… you know. It was my first time and all. I don’t think it would’ve been *that* painful otherwise. I was sort of… ready for you.” 

Oh, God. Can this become any more embarrassing?

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, and my own feelings instantly fade to the background. 

He’s feeling so guilty I can hardly stand it. I need to comfort him one way or the other and still doing the truth, as well as my feelings, justice. 

“I know,” I say, reaching out to caress his hair for a moment. “But it’s more like… like a present that’s wrapped for your birthday and then… then someone else unwraps it before you can. So, then the present isn’t, like…. spoiled or anything. It’s just… it’s not entirely new anymore. You know?”

His silence isn’t doing me any good. I have to keep talking, otherwise I’ll go nuts. 

Clearing my throat, I can’t look at him when I confess, “But then again, I wanted you to unwrap it anyway, so… I guess that’s why it’s sort of okay. It’s just… it wasn’t your birthday yet.”

“You wanted it to be me?”

His shocked question makes me watch him again.

“Yeah,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but I think I’m blushing all the way down to my toes.

Talking about it like this, this sincere and straightforward, makes me aware once more that I’ll never get the deal I’d secretly pictured in my head. It’s gone for good. I will never get another ‘first time’. Ever. The thought makes me cry some more, but I hate those tears. I don’t want to make a fuss out of it. It will only add more guilt to his already overloaded emotions, and damnit, it’s my fault too. 

And I suddenly realize he’s never really been angry with me either. Well, except for that one time in the bathroom, but that was indirect as well. He never really blamed *me* for anything.

He inhales deeply and releases the air a little shakily. After a long pause, he says, “I didn’t know.”

“Of course not, stupid.” I roll my eyes and wipe my tears. “It’s not something you talk about over dinner or something.” 

“No, guess not,” he says absently, still lost in thoughts. 

I shift my shoulders to release some of the tension. This is all really awkward. I hope we’re done soon. Confessing I wanted my first time to be with him brings my embarrassment to a whole new level.

Finally, after what seems an eternity, he changes the subject. “You were right about my skin. They’d set my clothes on fire.”

He brings it casually, but - oh God, I don’t think I want to know this. 

“I tried - they’d hung me,” he continues, searching for the right words. “I tried to keep control and stay conscious, but...” He trails off with pleading eyes searching for a hint of understanding. 

I feel like I’m drowning in guilt. 

I’m responsible. It’s all my fault to begin with. I wanted to go to Alkali Lake, and I didn’t listen when he told me to call the Professor if he wasn’t back in time. Everything he went through – it’s all on me.

The renewed knowledge is almost suffocating me. 

I’ve been so selfish. So goddamn selfish. Whining about my own misery when he went through hell. He has to live with the fact he killed all those innocent people. Stryker and his men used him as a toy to play with every single night. What’s my shattered girlish dream compared to his horror? How can he still be with me and look me in the eyes?

“I should’ve been stronger,” he blames himself, and I’m about to protest when he shuts me up. “Don’t tell me it’s okay. It’s not.”

I snap my jaws together and swallow hard. I don’t even know if I’m capable of saying anything. I’m too choked up with regret and tears. 

“I gave up and… then I woke up in the Danger Room, strapped to a surgical table.” He pauses at the thought but then shakes his head and exhales jadedly. “I kinda lost it. Thought they were going to cut me open to check their work. Again.”

Oh, Professor... How could he have been so inconsiderate? He should’ve placed him into a less clinical room. 

“It took me a while to get it together,” he goes on. “But even when I was diagnosed ‘sane’ again, I still had a hard time keeping him… the other part of me… under control. I was fucked up good, but Faye helped me.”

“How?”

He shows me a bit of a wry smile. “She told me to get a grip. For you. Because you’d need me after waking up.”

I didn’t know that. I didn’t know he got himself somewhat together again just because I might need him. Everything he went through, and he still wanted to be there for me. It’s just too much. It does all sorts of funny things to my insides and I’m so lost in the rollercoaster of emotions. 

He snorts. “Of course, I didn’t know I was the last person you wanted to see.”

His irony makes me cringe, because in a way he’s right. It had been difficult and scary at first. I bite my lip to keep me from blurting out something stupid, and he goes on, sounding dreadfully tired. 

“And then the nightmares began.”

“About me?” I squeak, trying so hard to stifle my grief and guilt I’m almost hyperventilating. 

“Yeah. I dreamt… saw you, felt you… underneath me. Trying to get away, scratching the floor.” He swallows and averts his eyes. “Begging.”

Oh, god. I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t want him to know. 

By now it’s starting to get light and I can see him better; eyes clenched shut and his body so tensed up I almost forget to breath myself. 

Knowing I can’t stop the wave of emotions rushing through me any longer, I do something I don’t deserve at all. I lunge myself into his arms and surrender to all this hurt, guilt and regret, holding him tight. 

“I’m so sorry,” I whimper, despising myself for seeking forgiveness, but he clings on just the same, strong arms pressing me against his chest as he breaks down too. I feel the sobs wracking through his body, shoulders shaking, hands trembling, and I just let go.

I don’t know how long we stay clutched onto each other, exchanging desperate whispers of regret, both trying to convince the other the returning words of forgiveness are sincere, but when we’re both calmed down a bit, the clammy heat surrounding us is almost unbearable. I entangle the casted arm to push away the blankets and get some air.

My face is wet, my hair’s all messed up, and I’m so tired, and yet, the lingering ache in my chest seems to have disappeared. My body is exhausted, but my heart feels strangely alive and fluttery. 

I can’t hold back a smile. 

We’ve talked about it. We talked, and instead of breaking the fragile friendship we’d managed to build again, we’ve turned to each other for salvation. 

Look at us, holding on.

And suddenly… I’m acutely aware of how we ended up together indeed.

He’s sprawled half on top of me, moist lips brushing against my cheek, hot breath against my ear, an a large hand on the bare skin of my back. He must’ve slipped it under my shirt, but I don’t really remember when that happened exactly. 

My head’s resting on his other arm, and I’ve wrapped one leg around his, straddling the muscled thigh he’s got pressed between mine. My forehead’s touching his jaw, and those soft hairs are tickling my skin. When I try to locate my other arm, it turns out to be kind of numb right underneath me.

Oh, my. 

This is kind of… weird, all of a sudden. I’m not sure if I should freak out or just stay very, very still and wait what’s going to happen next. 

“Marie,” he moans, sounding very unwillingly to speak. “There's more.”

More? More confessions, or more of this… this… whatever it is we’re doing?

“What?” I whisper, but I can barely hear myself.

“It’s sick and wrong, but you have to know.”

Ugh. I don’t like the sound of that. I definitely don’t like that sound of that. 

It’s clear he needs to get it out in the open though, so I try to ignore all the accidental foreplay and say, “Okay. I’m listening.” 

I didn’t think it was possible, but he presses me even closer. My bare belly comes in contact with the heat radiating skin of his lower stomach. It’s almost like… like he’s memorizing our embrace, because then he draws back, guilt clearly written all over his face.

“There’s no pretty way of saying it, but I’ll try.” Wary eyes drift away, but then they dart back up with a guarded determination. “The dreams - nightmares, they made me sick, but they also got me… my body… so… hard.”

He awaits my verdict, but all I can do is stare, my mouth hanging open like some fly catching idiot. It’s strangely quiet in my head, but the confession has the weirdest effect on the rest of me. I should be scared, but instead, something warm and hopeful awakes deep inside. 

“Really?” It’s all I can manage, blinking stupidly and trying to make sense of the inner chaos.

“I know it’s wrong,” he says with a piercing stare all the way through to my soul. “But it’s the truth.”

“I’ll be damned,” I mutter under my breath. “So, what, you get off on hurting me?”

Crap, I didn’t mean to say it that bluntly.

Now it’s his turn to be taken aback. “No! Fuck, no. It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh.” 

Okay, so… am I really having this conversation? With him? And in *bed*, of all places? 

“Well,” I stammer, still not sure what to make of it yet. “What *do* you mean then?”

“It’s not about pain. It’s… power. The chase, the catch.” His voice drops to deep whisper. “You know I got this part of me - he’s a dominant sonuvabitch, and your scent is… good. Real good.”

I… *smell* good? Are we talking about scents in an animalistic way here? Because if we do… Jesus Christ, have I finally gone delirious?

“Oh,” I say again, chewing over all this new information while he’s almost dissecting me with that intense stare of his. I’ll never get my head around it in just five minutes though. All these emotions, bare feelings… they’re kind of stuck in my throat or something. They need to sink in and find a place inside somewhere. I think I can really use a break now. This is all… a little too much. 

I grab the blankets a little tighter. “You think… you think I can go back to sleep now?”

The look on his face tell me he’d never, in a million years, expected that question. 

“Sure,” he says quietly. “I’ll go.”

“No. Stay. Please, stay. Just… shut up, okay?” I try to give him an assuring smile. “It’s okay. You know… everything you said. It’s okay. We’re good. We’ve talked about it, and... we’re good. That last bit… well, when I know what I’m feeling, we’ll talk about it some more. That okay with you?”

“Yeah.” He nods, but it’s obvious he’s lost somewhere between surprised hope and a shitload of doubt.

Knowing he needs a better kind of guarantee, I grab his hand and squeeze it gently. “We’re good, Logan. Really.”

Cautiously, his long fingers intertwine with mine and I feel an easy smile slipping across my face. He’s still here, touching me. Despite everything I did wrong, he’s still here. And he likes my scent. I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing. A very good thing.

I pull his hand a little closer and nuzzle his thumb while I close my eyes. 

“Yeah,” I sigh contently. “We’ll be fine.”


	36. Chapter 36

Helaku.

We're both watching the sign of Tyee's bar from the cabin of the truck. The place is still closed, but the owner’s inside already. I just saw him through a window.

I don't know what's going on in Logan's head, but I'm wondering what we're going to tell his friend and the Daisy Duke-reincarnation. The truth? I don't think so, but I don't want to lie either.

I sigh and rest my head against the seat, thinking about the past few days. After our emotional talk I'd fallen in an exhausted, dreamless sleep. When I finally woke up, it was late afternoon already. I guess going through all those feelings once again had drained me more than I thought. 

Logan was sitting next to the bed, guardedly watching me, waiting for a reaction. I'd smiled and said, "If you're trying to stare me awake, you're succeeding, mister."

A relived smirk appeared, and he used my very own reply back at me. "You looked like Sleeping Beauty."

"Hmmpf," was my ungraceful answer, but I couldn't hold back a grin as I stretched, and that made him see we’re really okay.

Now, the boundaries are somewhat clear again. We're back to being friends, and I'm actually kind of okay with that. Things were starting to become a little too ambiguous, even for me. I don’t know if his idea of me has changed (it’s been a while since he’s called me ‘kid’), and if he’s even considering being more than friends (doesn’t look like it), but I'm not sure if we're ready for a change. If *I'm* ready for that. 

Kind of weird actually. Weeks ago I'd be absolutely hysterical about the thought of a frantic make out session, but now, I think I’ll just stick to friends for a while. That’s tough enough already, even though the last days were relatively easy. 

We've been driving around a lot, thankfully without any more arguments. I think we needed to come to terms with the whole delicate subject. We talked about it some more, just bits and pieces, but we didn’t bring up the whole ‘good scents and certain hard body parts’ stuff. I’m still not sure what to make of it. Mostly because I’ve been avoiding it altogether.

We also spent a lot of time on our own. We had separate rooms and we stayed in our own beds. There weren't many hugs, but there were still touches. A ruffle through my hair, a quick arm around my shoulders, the usual stuff. Like I said, the boundaries are clear again. For now.

Eyeing Logan, I sigh again. "What are we going to tell them?"

"Don't know. The truth?" 

I’m not convinced. "To some extent, maybe? Just the basics. Nothing about us."

Grateful eyes meet mine. "Thanks."

I don’t think he understands he’s got a say in this as well. I guess, from his point of view, he isn’t in the position to tell me what to do. He still thinks of himself as some kind of perpetrator. That’s not how I see it, of course. I just don’t really know what to say to get through that thick skull of his.

"Yeah, well, let's not sit here forever. I'm freezing my butt off and I really need to pee."

He finally opens the door, and when I join him to walk to Tyee's, he unexpectedly wraps an arm around my shoulders to pull me close. My hand instantly finds the back pocket of his jeans, hooking in a thumb.

"You feeling me up?" he asks, throwing me an alarmingly charming smirk, and my legs instantly turn into jelly while my stomach goes ‘kathunk’. 

"Yep," is all I can answer, and I mentally kick those boundaries out of sight. 

Hello ambiguity. Where have you been hiding lately?

Logan keeps his arm around me, and he’s making me feel all giddy. I hope Vivian will see us like this. Maybe she'll keep her manicured paws to herself tonight. That'll be nice.

The moment we enter the bar, we're greeted by a shouted "Dakota! Dyani!" and I show Tyee my brightest smile. He seems genuinely pleased to see us again, and he spreads his arms. I actually let go of Logan and don't hesitate to give him a bear hug. “Good to see you again," I say, almost squeezing the life out of him.

Logan keeps his distance, but he smiles a warm smile. "Chief." 

"Hey, you guys!” Vivian comes rushing out of the kitchen, toweling her hands and balancing with great skill on high heeled boots. She stops for a hug too, and before I know it, I'm clouded in her sweet perfume.

"Hey, Viv," I grin.

Logan's walked up to the bar already, clearly indicating he doesn't want anyone in his personal space, and I know I didn't want Viv to touch him, but I’m surprised about that. I didn’t think he’d still have a problem with others in his personal space. Then again, we haven’t been around others much. 

"Is he okay? And what happened to your arm?" Vivian asks worriedly, and I give her a concerned look.

"We have a lot to tell you."

"Should I get the drinks?" she asks, and I nod.

"Yup, you'll need it."

She turns around, and I regard her legs. Those long legs. In black hotpants. And fuck-me boots. Ugh. How am I supposed to compete with that? And let’s not even start about the tight, denim blouse she’s wearing. Isn't she cold? Jesus, it's freezing outside.

Meanwhile, while I've been gazing at Viv's endless limbs, Logan has settled himself at the bar and is talking to Tyee. I walk up to them and hop on a stool.

"Those soldiers again?" Tyee asks, and he’s quite upset. "Are you okay?"

Logan shrugs one shoulder and avoids an honest answer. "Healed up."

Sympathizing brown eyes check out my cast. "How about you, sweetie?"

"Got into a fight, but I'm fine," I say as neutrally as possible, because Logan’s shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

Tyee’s intensely watching us. "I know you're mutants, and I think I know your powers, but isn't it time to tell me the whole thing? Why on earth are you so important they want you back?"

Logan sighs and raises his hand. "Because they gave me these."

The metal ‘snikt' gets to me every time. I shudder at the thought of the pain it’s causing, and when I look at the shining blades, I see the reflection of Tyee's shocked expression.

Yep, welcome to Mutopia, sugar.

* * *

"--and that's why Rogue's touchable now," Logan ends his monologue.

For the past half hour he’s explained the lab, the adamantium, and our captivity. Tyee and Vivian know just about everything, with the exception of our little get-together. He didn’t share any details or his feelings about any of it though. He kept it factual and rational, but I can see a lot of unspoken questions in the eyes of his friends. 

I hope they don't ask.

"Touchable," Tyee says, watching the cast again. "You’re still wearing gloves."

I shrug. "My mutation is off temporarily. I don't want to get used to it."

"How long do you have?"

Fidgeting with a glass of diet coke, I shrug again. "Months at least. Maybe even years. Our doc doesn't know yet. It depends on how fast those cells renew themselves."

"I hope soon," Logan mingles into the conversation, and both Vivian and Tyee look up.

"Why?" Viv asks.

"It's selfish," Logan admits. “I can't heal her anymore."

I snort. "You don't have to worry about getting killed either."

"I never worry about that,” he returns, and I know. Still, I secretly like it this way. I wish I'd stay like this forever. I have the prospect of a normal relationship now.

"Well, godddamn," Tyee says, still trying to understand everything we've been through. "I need another drink." 

We all laugh. "Make that two," Logan agrees, wrapping his arm around my waist again.

"Three," I call.

"I'll make it four," Vivian mumbles, reaching for one of the bottles on the shelves behind the bar.

I turn to my best friend and rest my head against his shoulder for a moment. "I'm going to get our stuff into the cabin. Don't want to end up wet and dead drunk without anything to wear again. Back in a minute, okay?"

"Good thinking."

He hands me the keys to the cabin we had before, and I make my way out to the truck, thinking about the night we watched the snowflakes falling out of the sky. It was such a fun night. Even though I was so drunk I couldn't even see straight.

"I knew you'd be back."

I turn around and come face to face with… uh… what's his name again? The cutie who asked me to dance the first time we were here. 

"Oh, really?" I show him a smile to hide my confusion.

Shit shit shit. Danny? No, damnit. Think! Something with a lot if e's. Derek? Ugh, no. He's dead and I'm not going to think about that now. (He wanted to be a pilot and Logan killed him and he couldn’t even defend himself because he only had night vision and oh my god....) I’m *not* going to think about him. I’m just going to talk to this guy for a minute. 

"Are you staying?" Cutie asks, and I turn my back to him again to get our bags. "Just for the night, I think."

"Here, let me help you," he offers, and takes the load off my hands. 

"Thanks."

We walk to the cabin and I'm still struggling to remember his name. Fuck, I can't be that stupid to forget his name, can I? And I can't ask now. I'll make an ass out of myself.

“What happened to your arm?” he breaks my train of thought.

“I fell.”

"Ow. Did it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.”

“But… you and your brother had a nice time, wherever you went?"

Ugh, not really.

"Sure." I open the door and walk in while Cutie follows and puts the bags on the bed. The bed where Logan held me tight and told me I was his peace. The bed where I kissed him. (He might hold me again tonight.)

"Right…,” Cutie stammers. “Where're you heading now?"

"Curious, huh?" I say, opening a few windows to give this place some air.

He looks around, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Do you mind?"

"Yeah,” I smile. “I'm trying to be mysterious." 

He smiles back. "You're succeeding."

"Good." I look over the room and unpack some of my personal stuff to get into the bathroom. Shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste – everything neatly on a shelf. 

Kenneth. That's it. His name is Kenneth.

He calls from the main room. "You want to hang out with us, tonight?"

Ugh, can't I just get rid of him?

"Don't know, Kenny," I answer, feeling smug about remembering his name. "I have to talk to my brother first."

"Oh, okay."

He sounds a little disappointed.

Closing the window's again, I decide it's time to head back to the bar. 

Kenny follows me like a lost puppy. 

Great. How do I get rid of him politely?

When Logan sees us entering together, he narrows his eyes and raises an eyebrow at the same time. I roll my eyes to indicate it's not my idea either to spend the evening with the boy and his friends. The same friends who start cheering and shouting encouraging comments the moment we walk in. Just wonderful. The bar’s barely open and I'm suddenly a trophy.

Surprisingly, Kenny walks up with me all the way to Logan. Guess he wants to know if my ‘brother’ approves. 

I really hope he doesn't.

"Hi," my self-proclaimed date says, offering a hand. "I'm Kenneth. Do you mind if your sister sits with me and my friends for a while?"

Okay, that is really polite and sweet of him, sort of chivalrous even, but Logan just stares at the hand, not even making an attempt to shake it. It's so embarrassing I feel my cheeks redden.

"Sister?" he asks, yanking me between his legs and possessively wrapping an arm around my waist. "Is that what she's told you?"

Huh? What's he up to?

Kenneth seems just as confused. "Uh… yeah." His surprised eyes search mine, but then Logan starts nuzzling my neck and all coherent thoughts are promptly gone. 

"Darlin', you're legal now. Don't you think we should start telling the truth?"

Oh, God. I have to put my hands on his thighs to prevent myself from sinking into a boneless heap. "The truth?" I mumble weakly, and I try to remember if I ever had knees.

Logan simply focusses on Kenneth again. "Sorry, bub. I don't share my wife."

Ack! His *wife*?

Kenneth looks like he doesn't know whether he should cry or get pissed off. I hope he picks ‘cry’. He really doesn’t want to get into a fight with Logan right now. (He might end up like Derek.)

"Why didn't you tell me?" he mutters angrily, watching my hand. I'm still wearing my gloves though. There is no ring to be seen.

"Uh," I stammer, willing my brain to work. "I was a bit too young when we met. I didn't want him to get into trouble. Guess it's a force of habit." I try to squeeze my face into an apologetic smile, but Logan’s nuzzling my neck again, right under my ear, and oh God, I'm going to swoon. 

I close my eyes and tilt my head sideways to offer him better access. I think I moan, too, but I don't give a damn. Is he kissing me? Oh, yeah, those lips are definitely touching my skin.

Oh.

My.

God.

Kenneth, however, is getting really angry about all this. "Mysterious, huh?” he sneers. “Well, you sure know how to be secretive." He stomps off to his friends, but they’re making fun of him, and aww, he doesn't deserve that. 

But then again, who gives a damn when the man of your dreams is kissing your neck?

Logan suddenly pulls away. "Sorry about that. You didn’t seem eager to spend time with him."

Is he kidding me? Is he fucking kidding me?!

I feel his grip around my waist loosen and I almost panic (please, God, don't let me fall at his feet). 

I take a deep breath and get myself somewhat together. "I wasn’t. Eager, I mean. And… yeah, it worked. Thanks."

My voice is too husky and my knees are too wobbly, but thankfully Tyee is nowhere to be seen. Vivian, however, is wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, not even trying to hide her smirk as our eyes meet. I stick out my tongue. Such a mature reaction.

She walks over and places the shot glasses, tequila, salt and slices of lime on the bar. "I think we all should drink to a happy ending." 

"Sounds good," Logan grumbles and withdraws his hand completely. 

"I second that," I mutter, and I’m insanely glad I’m able to climb back up the stool without crashing to the ground.

Holy fuck. I don’t really know what just happened, but I’d really like it to happen again. I suddenly want him like I’ve never wanted him before. *Want*, with a capital W-A-N-T.

And then it hits me. 

That's all I need. He needs to make love to me. He can prove he won't hurt me again, and my hunger for him will fade after it's fed, I'm sure. 

Yeah.

Of all the luminous ideas I've ever had, this is the most goddamn brilliant one. I have to gather some courage first, but eyeing the bottle of tequila, I grin like a cat that ate the canary.

The golden liquid is all the courage I need. 

Cheers!


	37. Chapter 37

The sonuvabitch. The goddamn sonuvabitch! I’m gonna kill him! It’s five a.m. and he still isn’t back yet. I’m soooo going to kill him!

After getting enough courage out of the amber liquid to feel confident about my plan, I told Logan and the others I wanted to go to the cabin and take a bath. Logan walked up with me because I was experiencing a pleasant, relaxing buzz. Maybe, just maybe, I drank a little too much. Just enough to make him hold me close because I wasn’t all that steady anymore. It was a nice, unexpected bonus.

He said he’d probably come back in an hour or so. He wanted me to take the bed and he’d sleep on the sofa. I didn’t argue. One part of me thought I’d lost my mind completely while the other part was determined to go through with my plan. I was trying to make out which one was the sanest. 

While my hands trembled as I was shaving my legs in the bathtub, I thought about what it would be like to feel Logan’s body against mine, feel him inside me, without digging up the memories of pain and fear. I wanted him to replace the first time with something good, something meaningful. Erase Wolverine’s claim and replace it with his. I was so nervous I almost puked in the tub, but then again, it could have been the Tequila as well. 

Anyway, I kept thinking about his confession: the nightmares made him sick, but they also excited him. Excited, as in getting hard and horny. I kept blushing every time I tried to picture it. My plan had to work. It just had to. 

And so I waited. And waited. And waited. 

And the bastard never showed up.

I watched some TV and checked the window for like a thousand times. I can’t see the main entrance of the bar from here, but around three I saw him and Vivian stumble over the parking lot. Well, Vivian stumbled, and after a while, Logan picked her up and carried her to her place. My heart suddenly felt so empty I think it imploded with just a little ‘plop’, leaving nothing but a quiet void in my chest. 

The void soon filled with anger though. The last two hours I’ve been pacing like a caged wildcat, ready to kick his ass the moment he walks through that door. My nice, drunken buzz is all cleared up, and I’m so goddamn furious, he should be glad I don’t have my poisonous skin anymore. Instead, there is a goddamn ugly vase within my reach that won’t see daylight in one piece ever again. That, I know for sure. 

The sonuvabitch. The fucking slut. No, wait. He’s *fucking* the slut. Pounding her six ways from Sunday, and she’s probably screaming out his name when she comes. I can’t stand the thought. I’m going mad here. I have to concentrate on something else. Like… uh… like, thinking of ways to kill him. 

Suddenly I hear the sound of crunching snow outside the door. The door opens silently, and he walks in, shaking snowflakes out of his hair. 

“Hey, darl--”

He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence. He’s pretty occupied with avoiding the flying vase. 

“You asshole!” I scream, running up to an empty bottle after the vase has shattered against the door. “Was she any good? Was she better than me?”

Again, he ducks on time. “What the--”

“I hate you!”

As I make my way through the room to turn a little stone elephant into another projectile, he stops me by grabbing my arms. “Whoa! Calm down.”

“Was she submissive enough? Did she beg you like I did?” I scream and I cry and stamp on his foot. “Did you get off on it, you bastard?” 

I’m absolutely hysterical, but he’s holding me so tight I can hardly breathe, dragging me to the bed. It only gets me even more out of control. “Want to do me too? Didn’t you have enough?”

“Shut up,” he snarls, clearly livid. He sits down and I end up on his lap where he holds me tight, my back against his chest. I squirm and screech for help, but he shuts me up by clapping his hand over my mouth and I freeze instantly, suddenly caught by sheer panic. 

“Now,” he calmly says, even though his wild-pounding heart betrays his real feelings. “I need you to calm down so we can talk. I’m not going to hurt you. I know you’re scared right now and I’m sorry, but do you think you can stop yelling?”

I breathe heavily through my nose, trying to nod. Oh, god. I’m going to faint if he doesn’t let go of me soon. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!

“Okay. I’m going to remove my hand and you stay quiet. Deal?”

Yeah. Yeah, deal. 

My quick nodding tells him I agree, and slowly he pulls away, still holding both my arms into a viselike grip. 

He gives me a minute to catch my breath, and somewhere in the back of my mind I realize he doesn’t smell like Viv’s sweet perfume. 

He sighs. “Bad timing, but I guess I had it coming.”

I stay quiet, thinking about the way I jumped to a conclusion earlier. Am I making that mistake again? He doesn’t smell like her, and he doesn’t smell like he just took a shower either. Also, he didn’t want to be hugged when we walked into the bar, and he avoided all physical contact with her the rest of the night. Lastly, and that’s actually a damn important one, Vivian hadn’t been flirting. 

“Marie?” 

His voice is still calm, but I’m too busy trying to make out his scent. He smells like winter. Like… snow and cold freshness and… a hint of tobacco. Nothing like sweaty, cheap sex and the sweet fragrance of miss hotpants. 

Shit. 

I think… I’ve just made an ass out of myself once again. 

“Did you sleep with her?” I ask quietly, and I hope, pray, he’ll say ‘no’. 

He stays quiet instead. 

I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. 

I’m so damn tired all of a sudden. He probably fucked her hard and fast, with a minimum of touch involved.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I didn’t know you were waiting up. I shou--”

“Don’t,” I tell him, feeling sick. “I don’t want to hear any of it.” I try to stand up, but he still keeps me locked in his embrace. 

“Goddamnit. Can you shut up and let me finish? No. Okay? No, I did *not* sleep with her.”

He didn’t? 

He continues, “We talked. She’s a friend. I’ve known her forever and we just talked, for God’s sake.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.”

Right. 

“Why didn’t you fuck her?”

“Jesus, Marie.” His patience is reaching its limitation, I can tell by the way his voice drops to a low rumble. “Because I had a headache. That good enough? Or because *she* had a headache. That better? Or maybe… because I don’t fuck every goddamn cunt on two legs. How’s that?”

I cringe and close my eyes. 

Can I fade away? Disappear from the earth? Just vanish?

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, feeling so embarrassed I really wouldn’t mind a nice, long coma right now. 

He rests his head against the back of mine and lets go of my hands. “Me, too. I thought you’d be asleep. I should’ve told you I’d be late but I didn’t want to wake you.”

It can’t get any worse, I suppose. Let’s try to be an even bigger idiot. 

“I’d been waiting up for you,” I tell him, making a quarter turn on his lap. “I want you to do something.”

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, I say, “Heal me.”

“You know I can’t,” he says, staring at me, confused and cautious. 

Suddenly I’m so calm, it’s almost creepy. “Yes, you can.” I reach out to slowly trace the curve of an eyebrow with my finger. “The question is, are you willing?”

Confusion’s changing into shock when he realizes what I’m asking. 

“No,” he gasps, more out of disbelieve than rejection. Or at least, that’s what I hope.

“I need it.” I reach for his hand and bring it to my mouth to softly kiss his knuckles. 

He watches in a daze before shaking himself back to reality again. 

“No. Marie--”

“You owe me,” I say, very aware it’s unfair to throw in my ace, but somehow the concept of fairness pretty much lost its meaning the day I sucked the living daylight out of David. 

“No.” He stands up, making me slide off his lap, but it’s odd how I don’t feel rejected at all. I sit down on the bed and watch him brusquely shrug off his jacket. Then he turns around and sees I’m still staring at him.

“What?” he asks edgily.

“I’m not asking for a relationship. I’m asking you to make love to me. Show me what it can be like.”

He scowls. “I don’t make love.”

That makes me grin, and I tilt my head. “Okay. First time for both of us then.”

Amazing how confident I feel. I have no idea where the strength comes from. 

He runs a hand through hair, muttering, “This is crazy.”

“Is it?”

We stare at each other in silence and, damnit, what I wouldn’t give to know his thoughts. 

He’s the first to look away. “I can’t undo what happened. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“I just want you to show me what it could’ve been.”

“No.” 

And that *is* a flat out refusal. The hope I had is crumbling inside my chest. Is he that disgusted by the thought of having sex with me? 

“I thought… you liked me,” I say, my voice suddenly too small. “After what you’ve said… about my scent and… the other stuff... I thought you liked me.”

He seems to be mulling it over, torn between… what? Guilt? Responsibility? Fear of feeding my so called crush? Ha! He should’ve thought of that before his confession a few days back. Now, I’m suddenly upside down and inside out, not knowing what to think, what to feel – just because he’s sending all these mixed signals.

Wanting to know where I stand, I provoke, “Am I so ugly it’s a chore?”

He looks like he’s about to snap my neck, but he sounds eerily composed when he says, “I’m not having this conversation tonight. Go to bed. I’ll take the couch.” 

He grabs his bag and starts unbuttoning his shirt, disappearing into the bathroom. When the door slams shut, my lungs remind me I really have to suck in some oxygen.

Great. That went well. Now we’re both angry.

So… now what? I think I should call Scott and ask him to come and get me. I can’t face Logan after this. I threw myself at his feet and begged him to make love to me. How low could I go? A whole fucking lot lower than I’d originally thought. And on top of it all - he refused. Refused! Jesus, am I *that* bad? 

I walk up to the window and watch the peaceful-looking white, snowy world outside for a while. I hope the Jet can land somewhere close. What am I going to say?

I hear a shower running, and I close my eyes in humiliation. I don’t want to be here when he comes back, but I don’t know where to go until the Jet’s here. I can’t run into the woods or anything. He’ll be able to track me down. 

For a moment I consider the possibility of him coming after me. I don’t think he lets me wander off on my own, even after all this. I guess there’s nothing I can do than go to bed for another two hours and then call Scott. I’ll just tell him I’m not feeling well. It’s the truth, after all. 

The door opens and I turn around, startled. I’d counted on a few more minutes at least. I didn’t even have time to hide under the blankets. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t look at me when he walks to the other side of the room. He’s wearing track pants and a t-shirt, his hair wet and wild, and I’m about to make my way to the safety of the covers, when he says, “Okay.”

“Okay what?” I ask dumbly, wondering if maybe I’ve missed something crucial. 

His gaze is fixed on the floor. “Let's do this. Get it over with.”

Uh… did he just agree to have sex with me? 

I blink. 

Holey Jesus.

Calm. I have to stay calm. And I have to breathe. And say something. Something other than ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. Something like, “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, showing me the scanning-look again, and his uncertainty makes me unusually confident. 

“Yeah.”

He stays glued to the spot where he’s standing. “It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind.”

“Nope. No change of mind.”

Still no movement. “You’ll tell me to stop. If I do something you’re not okay with.”

It’s not a question, and I smile at his concern. “Yeah. Okay.”

Again, all we do it watch each other. He narrows his eyes at me, and I suddenly feel naked even though I’m covered in flannel PJ’s. Not the most sexy outfit. Should I take them off? Lie down? Wait for him to come to me? What? What am I supposed to do?

The questions chase away my cool. I’m suddenly trembling all over. 

Of course, he’s instantly aware. “You okay?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. “I’m nervous.”

“Scared?”

“No. Not really. I just… don’t know what to do.”

And that’s the truth. I’m not afraid. I know he’s not going to hurt me, but goddamnit, this is something to be nervous about, right? I’m entitled to feel this way.

He just keeps on staring. “Want to stop?”

We haven’t even started yet. Is he doing this on purpose? Is he stalling me into doubt or something?

“No.”

I get another scanning-stare, but then his eyes fix on my feet and he raises an eyebrow. 

When I follow his gaze, I see my own two feet tucked into fluffy orange Tigger slippers, a gift from Jubes. Kitty’s got Piglet and she’d kept Winnie for herself. 

“Shit,” I mutter, eyeing the slippers in shock. “That’s… horrible.”

“Some would call it… cute.”

“Cute?” I repeat, looking up. “I’m not asking you to play hide and seek with me.”

There’s suddenly a mischievous smirk matching that eyebrow. “Well, it would make interesting foreplay.”

What the… is he teasing me? Yes, he’s teasing me. 

I can’t help the giggle escaping, but then he slowly takes a few steps closer, and my legs suddenly become all wobbly. 

He stops, about five feet between us. “This is as far as I go. You want this, you make the fist move.”

Wonderful. Just wonderful. I really don’t have a clue how to do this. Doesn’t these things start with a kiss? I guess… I guess that’s a plan as good as any. 

I clench my fists and close the gap. My hands creep up to his chest, encircle his back, and instead of giving him a kiss, I hide in a hug, burying my face in his shirt. 

Ugh. I’m such a coward. 

At least he returns the embrace, resting his chin on the top of my head. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know. I’m gathering courage for a kiss.”

“You did that before?” His voice is soft and deep. Soothing. “Besides the first time you told me about?” 

“No. Not really.” I’m still hiding in his shirt. “Remy and I tried through a scarf, but he didn’t like it, I guess.” I take a gulp of air and look up again, releasing it slowly. 

Does he see my insecurity as well as my determination? 

His mouth’s quirked into a faint smile, and he shows me that caring look. It makes my heart all fluttery. Without giving it a second thought, I rise up to my toes to brush my lips against his, fleetingly, just like the first night in this room. He doesn’t reject me, but there is also no encouragement. When I look up again, he just watches me with caring eyes, such a beautiful golden-green, waiting, his hands on the small of my back. 

I try again, a little longer this time. He’s so warm and he smells so good. His lips are soft and warm, and the stubble feels funny. Not bad-funny. It’s a very good-funny. It makes me smile while I give him another little kiss. 

Carefully he responds, pulling me closer, a hand to the back my head and guiding me for a few more sweet little kisses. There’s a gentle nibble, and I gasp. Then, I feel him giving my lower lip a little lick and I’m boneless. 

Oh, my god. This is what everybody means. This is want I want.

I grab his shoulders, open my mouth to invite him in, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting mine. I can’t help but moan, breathless, excited, my heart heavily pounding in my ears. He’s teasing me, a little flick, another one, but then the game turns into a lazy exploration of my mouth. I taste him, feel him, breathe in his scent, his breath. 

He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, releases it, and then tenderly sucks it again. I’m starting to feel light-headed while my body seems be on fire. 

Clothes. We need to get rid of these clothes. 

I tug at the hem of his shirt, but he grabs my hand and stops me, drawing away. 

“You’re still sure?” he asks, and I feel so smug because he’s a little breathless and his voice is all hoarse and sexy. 

“God, yeah!” I say, and really, I’ve never been so sure in my life.


	38. Chapter 38

Logan picks me up and I kick the Tigger slippers out of sight. A few steps, and then he sits on the bed, putting me down on his lap. This time I’m facing him, straddling his hips. He awaits my reaction, and I reach out to let my hands roam over his face, his neck, those broad shoulders and strong arms. He stays completely motionless. There’s so much to touch right now. I’m in such a hurry. I want to feel everything. Everything I’ve been dreaming of.

I return to his face and touch his mouth, my finger tracing the lines of his lips. They’re slightly parted, soft and inviting. And those eyes… such an amazing color, golden and caramel and that pretty hint of green. 

"You're so handsome," I murmur when I stare at him in awe, but he simply makes me face at me. "What?" I ask, smiling at his reaction. "You are."

He looks away and I know he doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

"Oh no, mister. Look at me," I order, and reluctantly, he obeys. 

"You're gorgeous," I tell him again, "and I am so in love with you."

Oops. I didn't mean to let that slip. Oh, well. Like he didn’t know already. 

He watches me in silence. I can't make out any real emotion, but he's so close, so warm, so mine. 

I’m still admiring his beauty when I feel his hands on my back. There’s a hesitant caress, his fingers stroking the fabric of my jammies, and I start to wonder, should I take off my top? I’m not sure. I'm not wearing a bra. Or any other form of underwear for that matter. Would it be too soon? Christ, this is weird.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he says, and I blush. It's almost like he's reading my mind.

"I was wondering… are you going to undress me?"

He smiles rather sweetly. "You want me to?"

"Well, that's how it works, isn’t?"

He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "You want to take off my shirt first?"

Aha! There *is* a God. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

"Yeah."

He lets me pull his shirt over his head, revealing that magnificent muscular torso. My eyes are gazing at him as the shirt goes flying, and I find myself deliriously happy that this gorgeous man is mine, even if it's just for tonight.

I reach out and explore his chest and stomach with my hands. I feel hard muscles, velvet skin, soft hair, just like I before, but this time it’s so much better because I’m not feeling guilty. 

I quickly push the memories away, leaning against him to hide my face in his neck, and I focus on his heart thumping against my breasts. I finally give in to the urge to try a little lick underneath his ear, and his breath falters. 

I guess he likes that. I must be doing something right.

I tilt his head to the side by a soft tug of his hair, and I kiss that place between his neck and shoulder. His skin responds with goose bumps, but he doesn’t jerk away. When I try a little bite and lick, he responds with a low moan, making me feel idiotically smug.

"Good?" I ask, not being able to hide my wide smile as I seek his eyes, and the predatory look makes me shiver. 

He grabs my hips and pulls me closer, pressing me against the now hard bulge underneath the fabric of his pants. "That answers your question?"

Oh, holey... He wants me. He *wants* me. The knowledge makes my stomach flip about five times in a row. 

"Yeah."

"Want me to stop?"

He's either crazy or he has great self-control because I sure as hell can't think straight anymore. He can take me any way he wants, right here, right now, and I'd probably beg him for more.

"No."

Besides, there’s nothing to stop because he’s not doing anything. Come to think of it, he’s never touched me in places he shouldn’t. Not even accidentally. Not even in his sleep. Well, except for… no, not even then. He didn’t really touch me. He just *fucked* me. 

Again, I push those thoughts aside and kiss him, putting my arms around his neck and pulling him as close as possible. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, taking control, tangling his hand in my hair, and for a moment I’m a bit surprised and overwhelmed. Then, on instinct mostly, I suck, using my lips quite suggestively. 

Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m aware I might accidentally be raising expectations for a blowjob, but I shove those thoughts out of sight as soon as he slowly pulls back and then trusts in again. My brain’s melting, capable of one thought only: he’s fucking my mouth with his tongue. Oh yeah, more please.

His hand moves at the nape of my neck and his mouth leaves mine. I’m about to complain, when those skilled lips travel over the skin of my throat - kissing, licking, and then softly biting. I gasp and whimper, not sure whether to pull back and giggle, or tilt my head in the ultimate gesture of surrender. Instead, I squirm and pant and wait for more.

When he reaches my shoulder, I fumble clumsily with the buttons of my top, but I also realize I'm rocking against him. That hard part is stimulating the sensitive part of me, and I’m suddenly distracted by too many sensations. Damnit, I want it all, and I want it all right *now*. I groan in frustration and impatience.

“What?” he murmurs against my neck, but I think he knows, because there’s a smile in his voice.

“Nothing. Don’t stop.”

“Hold on.”

He leans back onto the mattress, taking me along. When he scoots to the middle of the bed, his erection is very present every time he lifts his hips. I’m sorta astonished by the hardness of it. I know I’ve felt it before, but I don’t have to be afraid of it now. I have a bit of time to actually contemplate that part of him. How weird it must be for guys to have something soft and dangly capable of turning into *that* once in a while. 

When we both sit up straight again, I giggle at the thought. 

"Having fun?" he asks, and I blush, thankful I can hide my face behind a lock of hair.

"It’s… so hard." 

His naughty smirk is irresistible. "Believe me, darlin', I know."

I bite my lip and meet his eyes briefly. "Want me to do something about it?" I experimentally grind against him again, but he grabs my hips to hold me still. 

"No."

Oh. Am I doing something wrong?

"Sorry."

He chuckles, his eyes locked with mine, showing a tenderness that makes my heart all fluttery. "Just sit, okay? This is about you, not me."

Oh. 

Oh! I get it. I don't want him to come in his pants. Although, he should be able to come a few times with the healing and all, right? Jesus, I don't think I can do that. I’ve never tried more than once. Then again, never say never. This sex-stuff is all incredibly entertaining so far, even though he’s kept his hands to himself.

"Aren't you going to touch me?" I ask, and the tenderness fades into a smolder, almost making me come just by the way he looks at me. Goddamn…

"Tell me where," he commands, but his voice is calm and gentle. 

I don’t really know what I want anymore. "Everywhere?" I try, because it seems like a good place to start. 

There’s a hint of amusement on his face, but both his hands gradually move over my hips, slipping under my top and caressing my sides, moving up. His thumbs stroke my stomach, not yet touching my breasts, but they’re close. So close. My nipples are instantly aware something very enjoyable is about to happen, and again I squirm in his lap, partly embarrassed, mostly wanting more.

He's still keeping eye contact, and it makes it even more intense. I’m panting, holding on to his upper arms as his hands move higher, softly brushing the sides my breasts, and then holding still. His thumbs move over the curves, excruciatingly slow, and I bite my lip to keep me from screaming in frustration. My whole body’s tingling, waiting for that one touch, and when he finally flicks over the most sensitive parts, I close my eyes and arch my back. 

"Oooh."

My God, I’ve done this with Remy, but it was never skin on skin. And Logan is so much better at this, teasing me the way he does. There’s a gentle pinch. I gasp. Another brush. I gasp again. I crave to feel him. Against me, around me, *inside* of me.

"My clothes," I moan, totally taken aback by all these feelings, "get them off."

"You sure?"

"Stop asking, damnit."

I can hear him laugh, but I don't open my eyes. I'm so caught up in all this, I don't really register anything but those hands on my breasts and the tingles between my legs. I think I’m embarrassingly wet already, and I’m vaguely aware he should be able to smell it, but then I don’t care because he’s unbuttoning my top, revealing my bare skin. 

"You're so beautiful," he says, and when I open my eyes, his heated stare is chasing away the sudden rush of cold. He presses me close, hot skin against mine, hard chest against my breasts, and I dig my nails into the flesh of his back because I can’t seem to get him close enough. 

His hands are suddenly everywhere, my top completely gone after a swift yank over the cast. He bends me backwards, taking my weight in his arms, and when he licks a nipple, I let out a short, breathless scream. 

I don’t have time to catch my breath, because there’s a nip, a gentle bite, suckling kisses, and then he moves to the other and repeats it all over. I’m reduced to a limp weight in his arms, panting and moaning, wanting more, and yet, not wanting him to stop. I never could have imagined Logan being so gentle.

One of his hands on my back starts moving. His strong fingers stroke my side, my hip, and then follows my leg. His lips are making love to my body, and the stubble is scraping deliciously rough against my skin. 

The moment he lifts me up to kiss me again, I suddenly know he loves me just like I love him. He’s hungry and rough, with emotions too real and too intense. It’s close to desperate, and maybe he senses my thoughts, because he breaks our frantic kiss and pleads against my mouth, "Tell me to stop."

"Are you out of your right mind?"

One hand is still on my back. I'm rocking against him again. The things he does, the pleasure flowing through me - all my initial embarrassment is completely gone. He should know how much I want him. He should be able to smell my arousal. There’s no way I could possibly stop.

I’m so wet and I long for release, so I grab his other hand and guide it between my legs. It’s a bit of an awkward angle for him, but if I’m not allowed to move against his body, I really need something else. 

Through the fabric of the flannel I feel his fingers, and I buck my hips to give the neglected bundle of nerves down there some attention. "Oh, yeah," I sigh, closing my eyes and holding his wrist. The deep, smoldering want is transforming into an all-consuming need. 

He bends me backwards again, his mouth instantly finding my breast, and the moment I feel his lips on me, my body’s so close to the edge I’m trembling all over. He licks, then sucks, and he twists his hand in my grip to touch me just *right*. It’s just a little pushing brush, but I instantly fall apart, my body jerking as I cry out. He pulls me close, holding me tight as a shattering orgasm crashes through me, making my inner muscles clench, wave after wave.

God.

Oh, god.

He falls back into the mattress, taking me with him so I’m sprawled all over him, but I just can’t move. 

This is just….

Just….

"Goddamn," I whisper, catching my breath and surprised about the intensity of what just happened. I don’t think I’ve ever felt my body react like that.

"Yeah," he answers, hoarsely, panting in my hair. "You okay?"

"Hmm.” I smile lazily. “Better than okay."

"No regrets?"

"No way."

I've just seen a glimpse of heaven and we didn't even have real sex yet. Another orgasm like this one and I'm dead for sure. But oh boy, what a way to go.

Logan caresses my bare back and I feel myself doze off a little.

"Love you," I mumble against his shoulder, relishing this totally relaxed feeing. 

He responds by kissing my forehead.

I'll just close my eyes for a moment, and then I want round two.

* * *

Hmmmm.

Oh. 

I guess I fell asleep. 

I don't mind waking up like this though. I'm still all over him, and either his erection turns out to be permanent - which could be very uncomfortable in the long run, or I didn't sleep that long.

"Hey," I murmur, touching soft chest hair. "Ready for round two?"

He sounds relieved when he asks, "You serious?"

"You didn't think you were done, did you?"

When there is no answer, I lift up my head and arch my eyebrow. "No way, sugar. Let's get rid of these clothes - I want to feel you inside of me."

Jesus. Did I say that? And I didn't even blush. Yay me!

He doesn't move for a moment, but then he kisses me again, rolling us over so now he's the one on top.

He hovers over me and his tongue invades my mouth like I want him to thrust into my body. I don't know whether to arch my back or to lift my hips. One hand’s tied up in my hair, the other supporting his weight. I try to pull him down on me, and he shifts between my thighs, kissing me again while pull up my knees. He draws back, our bodies not quite touching, and he looks at me with so much love, it takes my breath away.

"Still okay?"

"Yeah," is all I manage to whisper. I'm lost in his eyes. Lost in this moment.

He starts a trail of butterfly kisses. A slow lick over my lips, a brush of his mouth over my shoulder, sensual nibbles in my neck, passionate bites across my throat, more licks and kisses between my breasts, and then there are gentle, playful kisses over my stomach. I mess up his hair even more and struggle for breath when his tongue dips into my navel.

Holy shit, this is even better than my best fantasies. Trust me when I tell you I had a shitload of dreams about all this. The tension’s building up again, and I didn’t think I could feel this way so soon. Also, may I comment that I really, *really* like facial hair? It feels amazing against my skin. So rough and manly and just… so good.

"Yeah," I whimper, totally out of breath as he cautiously lowers the hem of my pants. I lift my hips, but instead of taking them off, he kisses my hipbone and then follows the same path up again. His breath is hot against my stomach, my breasts, my collarbone. His fingers are teasingly touching, gently caressing. 

This is torture. Plain torture.

When he kisses my lips again, the tenderness gradually changes into something more ferocious. He presses his body against mine, grinding himself against me, and it feels so good my moans are stifled in his mouth. I’m impatiently trying to get rid of my pajama bottoms, and he seems to notice because he rolls us to our sides. I don't really know who gets them off eventually. There’s some tugging and kicking involved, but once I’m naked, I hook one leg around his and his hand travels over my hip, the back of my thigh, his fingers so damn close down there but still not touching.

"Logan," I beg, amazed by my need, my want, "stop teasing."

Without a word he pushes me back into the mattress, shifting to the side, his erection pressing against my hip. His mouth doesn’t leave mine, but his hand is slowly moving down over my stomach, through my dark curls, until a finger lands exactly *there*.

"Oh, that's – ooooh.”

I can’t help but lift my hips against his hand, and smirking, the bastard kisses me slowly, his warm tongue circling around mine. He moves his fingers, finding the slickness between my legs, and then they’re back on that sensitive spot again, pressing and rubbing in a rhythm that matches his tongue. I can't take this any longer. It’s too much. It’s just too much. I open my legs a little more and cling onto his arm. "Please.” 

I’m not sure what I’m begging for. Release, maybe, but he’s got other plans. 

His hand moves down again, and gently, he slides one finger into me, his tongue still taking possession of my mouth. He moves slowly, slipping in and out, and I’m used to doing this myself but it’s such a wonderful and weird feeling when someone else is touching me that way. There are so many new feelings I’m a bit overwhelmed. His hands, his mouth, that body pressed against mine, I feel like all nerve endings are reaching out to him. He’s my world. There’s nothing beyond.

A second finger carefully joins the first and I gasp. His hands are much larger than mine, his fingers thicker. I feel myself stretch and accommodate. I’m… so full. 

He slides out. 

“Okay?” he asks, and I press my thighs together, keeping his hand down there because I really don’t want him to stop.

“Yeah.” 

Another kiss, and he carefully slips both fingers back in while his thumb suddenly touches my most sensitive part. That’s all it takes. 

“Oh, God!” I cry out as I dig my nails into his lower arm, bucking against his hand, falling, floating, and embracing pure bliss. I'm vaguely aware Logan’s holding me close, but honestly, even if Stryker, Dwight, Magneto and Sabertooth walked in right now, I couldn't the stop the waves of ecstasy. 

For a moment, there’s nothing else but me and my body, but slowly, my perception extends and I’m aware of my mouth, burning, with swollen lips from his rough kisses. I feel his hand on my stomach, fingers damp and slippery, his leg over mine, and the hardness against my side. He’s nuzzling my hair, breathing in deeply, and eventually some thoughts seep into the wonderfully foggy daze. 

If I'd known he could make me feel like this, and several times nonetheless, I would've said 'yes' when he asked me to marry him. My God, I'm *such* a dumbass.

"Damn you," I puff, smiling and still out of breath. “All this time you were so close and you denied me the best orgasms of my life.”

He props himself up on one elbow and looks down on me, smearing my own body fluid all over my belly. It makes me feel a little embarrassed all of a sudden. I don't think I've ever been this wet before.

“Done?” he asks, and I show him my best scowl.

"No way. I'm ready for round three in just a moment."

He seems surprised, but then a very sexy lob-sided grin appears. “Any particular requests?”

"Yes," I tell him matter-of-factly. "Get rid of your clothes."

The grin’s gone. "We don't have to do this."

“Yeah, we do.” I scramble up a little, trying to be as graceful as I can be considering my naked state, and he untangles our limbs. I tug at the blankets and slip under de covers. Then, a very depressing thought occurs and I look at him. “Or… did you change your mind?”

He looks back at me, scanning, and I don’t know what he’s been looking for, but he must’ve found it because he bends forward and tenderly kisses the tip of my nose. "No."

I watch him turn around and take off his pants. He isn’t wearing underwear it seems, but before I get a good look at his naked glory, he slips under the sheets a well. 

Damnit, I *really* wanted to see him aroused.

He lies down on his back, and I shift next to him, draping one leg over his, my head on his shoulder, my casted hand on his chest. I've been wrapped around him like this lots of times, but we’ve always been dressed. This is something entirely different. His thigh is getting wet because I'm sort of pressed against him. Does he mind? And should I let my hand drift a little lower? I wish the cast was gone. I can’t wrap my hand around him now. I’m so curious what he feels like, all hard and skin on skin. The touches in that awful cell were never something sexual. He was never aroused, and I still wore my gloves. Maybe I should crawl to the other side to I can use my left hand. Maybe--

"Marie," Logan startles me out of my thoughts, nuzzling my hair, "I don't think I can stop once… once we're together."

I grin. Vivian said he was always restrained. Well, let's see if I can do something about that. I want him to let go.

"I told you, I don't want you to stop. I want to feel you inside of me, and I want you to come inside of me."

I'm so proud of myself. 'To come inside of me.' That's almost 'I want you to fuck me hard and out of control,' isn't it?

He turns around a little, his eyes searching mine, a dangerous glow smoldering in the dark hazel. It takes my breath away, and I feel more heat igniting deep down inside of me.

"God, darlin', you have any idea what you’re doing to me?"

I shift a little closer, nudging the impressive hard-on with my hip. Whoa… It’s really hot and really solid. 

"I have a pretty good idea," I answer, showing him my best arrogant smirk. 

He growls deep. "C'mere, you gorgeous woman."

I scream and giggle when he tickles my sides and playfully bites my neck. It's so good to hear him laugh. The deep rumble in his chest makes me so damn happy. I don't think any of his sluts can make him laugh like I can, especially in bed. 

Snickering, I try to move his hands away from me, but of course I know he’s too strong. "Aaah! Damnit! You always win!" I yell, and I try to tickle him instead. 

He shifts, gripping my hands and holding them pinned above my head. My fingers are quickly captured in one fist, and the other hand is back to supporting himself before I could feel his full weight on top of me. Then, he suddenly stops. There’s a weird, buzzing tension, and I know. He’s half on top of me, one leg pressed between mine, and I'm defenseless, helpless and overpowered. He knows it too. 

The playful smile slowly changes into a feral stare. "Last chance."

I swallow hard and try to hear his words above the excited pounding of my heart. I'm not scared. I'm nervous, yes, but not scared at all. Trembling in anticipation, I hold his gaze and say, "I want this. I want you to take me."

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against mine, our harsh breathing the only sound in the room for several seconds. Then, he kisses me again, slowly at first, but when I return them eagerly despite my tender lips, he becomes more dominant. 

I moan, surrendering to his strength, his control. Whatever happens next, it's beyond me from this point on, and it adds a sensation I never thought I would welcome with such eagerness. The grip on my fingers loosens, and I can break free if I want to but I don’t do anything at all. He positions himself between my legs, and, oh my God, I feel him now, so very close. 

Gasping, I ready myself for whatever comes next. 

He releases my hands completely and grabs my hip to hold me still. "It's okay. I'll go slow."

I think I’ve lost my ability to speak, so wrap my arms around him and cradle his hips between my thighs. I hide my face in his neck and hope he'll understand I'm not scared, just a little astonished and too caught up in the moment by all this.

"Look at me," he orders, and I try to focus on the hypnotizing, hazel eyes. 

Holding my gaze, he shifts again, and he rubs himself against my slickness, making me moan. “Oh, that feels good. That’s… really good.”

He does it again, and I angle my hips, wanting more, wanting him. Now.

“Logan,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “Please.”

He moves, and then he’s suddenly entering me, just a little.

Oh! It doesn't hurt at all. It feels… right, somehow. So normal, and yet, nothing compares to this feeling at all.

While I’m busy experiencing all these new feelings, he's trembling all over. His face is pressed against my shoulder, and I'm so thankful for his restraint I can almost cry. Well, actually, I *do* cry. It's just all too overwhelming. 

"It's okay," I say, caressing his hair, and wiping a few drops of sweat from his forehead. "I'm okay."

Carefully, he slides a little deeper, panting hard, a rumbling groan escaping between clenched teeth.

I want him to fill me up completely. "Please."

He pulls back a little, but then he pushes the rest of his length inside of me in just one thrust. I cry out in pleasure and shock while his hand’s probably bruising my skin to keep me still. I feel my body adjusting to his size, so easily, and I smile, rubbing my cheek against his jaw and loving the feel of those hairs against my skin.

One. We're one. He's inside of me, and I've never – ever - experienced something like this. It’s so absolutely right. So absolutely out of this world. I search his mouth and he responds by kissing me with a passion I never thought possible. I feel like I'm drowning in his presence, lost in our merge, but please, don't ever let me find my way back again.

“You’re crying,” he pants against my lips, but I smile through my tears. 

“Because it’s so good.”

Another kiss. “Yeah?”

“Doesn’t it feel good for you?”

His chuckle sounds more like a growled moan. “God, Marie,” is all he mutters, but I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing.

His hand moves up to support himself on both elbows. His breathing’s irregular, hot against my neck, and his heart’s pounding wildly. This is what I've always dreamt of. He's mine now. I was an idiot for thinking I can get over him. That will never happen.

I wrap my arms around his neck and carefully move my hips. He moves as well, pulling back a bit and then back in again, repeating with slow, short strokes. He’s being careful with me, I know, but I try to adjust to the rhythm and caress his hair, wondering what I have to do to make him let go. I want him untamed, wild, and out of control. I want him to feel like I do. I want him overwhelmed.

"More," I pant against his shoulder, and he tries to bite back a desperate moan but fails.

He slowly draws away entirely, and then slams into me again, pushing me up a little, closer to the headboard of the bed. I whimper in mind-blowing satisfaction and reach out for the wood with one hand to keep me from bumping into it eventually. The thrusts turn into deep strokes, and every time he buries himself inside of me, the internal fire seems to spread. 

I arch my back and love the friction of our skins, the tickling hairs against my breasts. I dig the nails of my other hand into his arm and hook my legs around his waist, urging him on, moving my hips to grind against him every time he’s deep inside. I’m so close again. So close. 

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He listens. 

Each thrust suddenly comes hard and deep. There’s no rhythm now. All I can do is hold on, my body all coiled up, and I sink my teeth into the rippling muscle of his shoulder. 

It’s his undoing. 

Almost savagely driving into me, he suddenly angles his hips and I feel a hot explosion of emotions like I've never experienced before. With a scream I tighten my grip around him and actually see stars as my inner muscles clench around him, uncontrollably milking as he comes to, holding me so tight I'm out of breath. For a brief moment all our muscles are rigid, but then he rolls over and I collapse on top of him.

Free.

We're high on lust, high on love, but with every gasp and every heartbeat, reality comes closer, chasing us to get grounded again. We're still entangled, our bodies still joined together, and I'm slumped on top of him while he holds me in a solid embrace. For some reason more tears are welling up and I surrender to my feelings, not even knowing why I’m crying.

Logan's still trying to catch his breath, but he manages to say, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

He keeps me pressed against him when I try to look up.

"I lost it."

I smile. "These are happy tears."

"Oh, thank God."

We stay quiet for a while. I just try to *be* and ignore the chaos of emotions and thoughts tumbling over each other inside my heart and head. He's still inside of me, still hard enough, and I wiggle my butt a little to feel the friction between our bodies.

He groans and holds me still. "Don’t."

Wiping away wet trails on my face, I try to untangle the sheets a bit. "Why not?"

He stares at me, smiling faintly, eyes a gorgeous shade of greenish gold. "We both could use a few hours’ sleep, and I don't want you to be sore."

"I'm not."

I sound like a whining kid who doesn't want to take a nap.

"Sleep, Marie. It's mornin' already."

I'll be damned. I actually see light coming from behind the curtains. He's right. We’ve skipped an entire night.

"You're staying, right?" I ask, not knowing where we go from here. I mean, now what? Are we lovers? Friends? What?

"Yeah. If you want me to, yeah."

"Please, stay."

He rolls us over to our sides and kisses me tenderly. I feel something fluid leaking out of me and realize it's his. It’s not blood, like I'd thought in that awful cell. It suddenly makes sense. It has to come out eventually, but I never thought about it before. That's something they never show in the movies.

I put my arms and legs around him, securing him, not wanting him to pull away.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and it’s all I want to hear. 

"I know. Just… one more minute."

He grins, nuzzling my neck and caressing my hair. It’s such a good feeling, I really want to start this all over again. He’s certainly sill hard enough even though it’s less than before.

Knowing I have to let him go sooner or later, I take a deep breath and hope I'll remember our scents mixed together for the rest of my life. I kiss him, lovingly, and our tongues instantly find each other again. It makes us both moan at the same time.

"Marie," he grunts, drawing away, "sleep, damnit."

I giggle, but when he moves and leaves my body, I miss him so much I could instantly cry again. Thankfully, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. More fluid leaks out, and I'm aware of the mess we're making but I really don’t give a damn. I snuggle up against him, feeling so damn safe in his arms, it doesn’t take long before I’m asleep.


	39. Chapter 39

Morning after. Or uh… make that 'afternoon after'. If anyone would've told me I'd wake up one day in a sticky bed covered in nothing but Logan's sweat, saliva and sperm, I would've laughed my ass off. Still, that's the deal right now. All we miss is snot. That would make the chaos complete.

On top of it all, no pun indented, is the man himself, naked, warm and heavy. With an arm and a leg draped over me, it's impossible to move without waking him up. His steady breathing makes my hair tickle my face, and I suppress the urge to scratch. I don't want him to wake up, because now I know why people leave in the middle of the night after casual sex. They don't want to face what’s going to happen next. 

I'm lying awake for quite some time now, thinking about everything that's happened and how it all started. There is one sentence I can't seem to get out of my head. It's repeating itself over and over again. 

'Get it over with'.

Those were his words when he agreed to make love to me. He didn't look at me and he'd said, "Let's do this. Get it over with." 

God, how big of a fool was I? How could I've missed the emptiness behind that sentence? The lack of enthusiasm? Unwillingness, even? Was I *that* desperate?

I stare at the ceiling, trying to recognize something of the intimacy we'd shared last night, but all I feel is disappointment. Disappointment in myself, because I thought I was stronger. I thought I could hold on to my beliefs to only sleep with someone who loves me back. Because that is another issue that's keeping me awake; he never said he loves me.

I've said it a couple of times, but he never returned those precious words. Not even when we were one. I thought I saw it in his eyes, felt it in his kisses, and believed it in his touch, and last night it seemed to be enough, but now I'm not so sure anymore. Why didn't he just tell me? Why do I always have to guess his feelings?

My stomach makes its presence known, rumbling loudly, and I realize I'm hungry. Logan twitches his arm after all that noise. Shifting against my side, he pulls me closer and mumbles in my hair, "Mornin'. How're you?"

Confused. Vulnerable. Embarrassed.

"Fine," I tell him, turning around to hide my face against his chest so he doesn't see my emotions. "Hungry." I rest my head on his arm, and even though I'm sort of uncomfortable about our nudity, my body still fits against his like we're meant to be.

"You're always hungry, woman,” he says with that sexy, deep voice, and his fingertips softly caress my bare back. “It's a miracle you don't end up waddling like a stuffed turkey.” 

His unexpected teasing makes me giggle. 

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we really have something going on here. Maybe I'm expecting too much. Overthinking things again. I mean, I’m the one who told him I didn't want a relationship, right? Maybe he didn't tell me his feelings because he thinks I'm not ready.

"That's mean," I tell him, nuzzling his chest hair. "You know it's all your fault I'm insatiable. You start to rub off on me." 

"Are we still talking about food?"

It makes me grin, feeling more comfortable by the second. "Well, I can think of other possibilities when it comes to satisfying hunger."

He growls and pulls me even closer. He seems good to go because his erection presses against my belly, but he says, “Don't get started again."

Oh. Great. Did he just reject me?

"We made quite a mess out of this bed," I change the subject, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"Yeah. I never stayed long enough to come across a morning after."

His hand trails over my shoulder, my arm, my hip, confusing me, trying to make me forget all my doubts.

"That means I can't count on you to guide me through this?"

"You got that right, darlin'."

Crap. I’d been hoping he’d get up first so I could slip into my pj's when he's in the shower, but I guess I'm the lucky one. I just *have* to create some distance because suddenly I don't know what to feel, what to think anymore. He's too close. Too distracting.

Damnit, I wish I was Kurt. I could bamf into the bathroom without giving him an eyeful. Then again, if I *was* Kurt, I probably wouldn't have had sex with Logan. Following that train of thought, that could’ve been a blessing. I can do without the current doubts.

"Marie," Logan breaks the silence, and I stiffen. I know from the sound of his voice this isn't a conversation I'm ready for right now. He sounds caring, but also guarded. It's the same sort of voice my mother used when she told me my hamster Mr. Wiggle died. It's the 'I'm very sorry, but I'm going to hurt you' voice. I’m absolutely positive I can't handle drama while we're sort off stuck together by our own body fluids. 

"I'm fine,” I tell him hastily. “Really."

"Sure?"

"Look," I sit up straight, covering myself with a sheet, "what we did was wonderful. It was everything I wished for, but I meant it when I told you there were no strings attached. Honestly. We're friends. I hope we can stay friends. I don't expect anything than that."

There. I'm mature. I can do this. It's just a one night stand. Time to lock away those childish dreams about soul mates and true love, and to get the boundaries clear again.

It takes him forever to answer, his eyes roaming over my face on their ever quest to catch me telling a lie, but finally, he grunts, "Okay, If that’s what you want."

"Yeah," I say on an exhale, faking a smile. "So uh… you think we can stay another day and leave tonight?"

He looks surprised. "Sure."

"I don't want to leave this soon. I hardly talked to Viv and Tyee, and speaking of which, let's take a shower and grab a bite."

It takes all my courage to get up and look quasi casual when I walk over to the bathroom. I don't know if he looks at me, but if he does, I hope he sees a confidant, young woman and not a lost, little girl. The last thing he needs is feeling guilty about screwing both my body *and* my mind.

I’m mature. I can do this.

* * *

"So, what's with you guys?” Vivian asks. “Did you get into a fight or something?"

I look up from my plate filled with pancakes and stare at her beautiful face. She's worried. Those wild curls are held back into a ponytail, and it makes her look so much younger. She's just stunning without all the sleazy make up.

"What do you mean?" I ask, buying time, because I think I know damn well what she’s talking about. 

“Oh, come on, honey. It's obvious." She studies her nails and continues, "You're trying really hard to ignore each other."

She’s right. I think it's my fault, but I don’t know how to fix it. 

After I came back from the shower, I hardly looked his way. He was up, dressed in nothing but jeans, and he told me he'd promised Tyee to help repairing the roof someday, and it might as well be today since we’d be staying. I managed a smile and told him it was fine by me, and then I escaped without giving him a second glance. I’m pretty sure that must’ve given him a clue, but I haven’t seen him yet, so maybe he's giving me some space or something. 

Or maybe he’s relieved.

Viv stops the destructive path inside my head. "So? Details?"

I sigh. "It's nothing."

The woman across from me wrinkles her pretty nose. "Wrong answer."

She stands up and gets herself another cup of coffee. Her tight, worn out jeans are hugging her curves, and she's the kind of woman who can wear a sweater and look cute and huggable instead of fat and sloppy. It's really not fair.

I’m suddenly really tired of all this. Maybe I should tell her. Maybe she knows the answers. I bet she's had a lot of one night stands. 

"We've had sex," I say quietly, looking at my plate as she walks back.

"Well, hallelujah, praise the Lord."

I roll my eyes for an answer.

“So, are you guys together now?” 

"Not exactly,” I grumble. “It's… complicated.”

As in, I think I screwed up completely, but I don't really know what the hell went wrong.

"Bullshit,” she states frankly, and she snags a piece of my pancase. “You love someone. Someone loves you back. You make love, and so that means you *have* love." 

I smile. "I didn't take you for a romantic."

With her mouth full, she answers, "Honey, all girls are romantics deep down inside. But… okay. So you had sex. I assume it was good sex?”

“God, yeah.”

She smirks at my blush. “Then what's the problem?"

Sighing, I watch my breakfast floating in syrup. "Nothing. Everything. Nothing."

"Right. Let's concentrate on 'everything'. Anything specific?"

"He never said he loves me," I confess, moving my breakfast from one side to the other.

"So?"

"Well, I've said a few times."

She frowns. "And now you think he doesn't love you? You think you can measure the amount of love someone feels by the times he expresses it verbally?"

"Of course not," I spit, frustrated. "It's just… I just wish he'd say it, you know? Just one simple 'I love you' during a moment that counts."

"Oh, so now he has to say it during a moment that *counts*?”

"Never mind." I stand up, but she's fast and pushes me back into the booth.

"No way," she snaps, angrily. "Now you listen to me. That man outside is a very dear friend of mine. I love him very much, and I want to see him happy. Something's wrong between the two of you, and we're going to solve that problem, right here, right now."

With her hands on her hips and her usually full lips now pressed into a firm, thin line, she's clearly not a woman to pick a fight with. I cowardly scoot back to my place and sigh. How did a night so promising turn out to be such a crappy day?

She sits down, reaching out for my gloved hand. With a much softer tone, she says, "Rogue, not everybody expresses feelings with words. Some say it in a kiss, some in a touch. Sometimes a look is enough to see it clearly, and some are even willing to give their life."

Ouch.

"I know," I whisper, thinking she must think of me a spoiled little brat. "And I know he loves me. I just doubt he's *in* love with me. Shouldn't you be *in* love before it can become more? "

"Who says he's not in love?” She sits back and shrugs. “Just because he doesn't sing you carols by candlelight or write you poems or something doesn't mean he's not feeling those things for you. For all we know he might not even recognize it. He's been alone for as far as he remembers, and besides, he's a guy. Guys don't skip over a field with flowers in their hair, having mushy thoughts about the woman they're in love with."

I feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Anyway," Viv rambles on, "being *in* love is always temporarily. It's a stage where people usually don't know each other very well. It has nothing to do with love and everything with lust. It's a chemical reaction between people. By the time their relationship grows, so does their love. It should feel like a warm blanket, cozy and warm. Being *in* love makes you simply go bonkers."

"I guess," I agree halfheartedly, because I’m pretty sure people in love don't say 'Let's do this. Get it over with' when they're about to fuck the object of their desire. Of course, I don't tell her that. It's too embarrassing.

"Rogue, don't doubt Logan's love because he never said it in a moment that *counts*."

Ignoring her last sentence, I ask, "What did you guys talk about last night?"

Sipping her coffee, Viv’s the one rolling her eyes this time. "Well, I was extremely drunk, but I vaguely remember I was trying to persuade him to talk about his feelings for you."

I’m suddenly very interested, clumsily dropping my fork on the floor. “What did he say?"

"In not so many words he said he's not good enough." She stands up to get me clean cutlery, and looking over her shoulder, she smiles. "So I told him to stop being an ass and start making you happy because it’s obvious you love him and you two belong together."

"That's about the cheesiest pep talk I've ever heard."

She laughs again and points at me with the silverware. "Hey, you try to be original after downing a bottle of tequila, missy."

"Well, alright." I laugh, too. "You did pretty good, all things considered. After all, you're on my side."

"I thought so too, thank you very much. Although I thought my pep talk didn't work because he didn't seem all that convinced when I kicked him out." She shrugs and snags another bite. "I guess I was wrong."

"You kicked him out?"

"Yeah. Told him not to leave you waiting and give you the wrong idea."

"Well, he did. He came home around five," I tell her, frowning.

Her eyes grow wide. "Five? I think he left around three fifteen."

"Ah, so he’d been wandering," I say, remembering the fresh smell of snow and tobacco when he came back to the cabin. 

Suddenly a wave of shame rushes over me. I said all those nasty things after I thought he'd slept with Viv. I *have* to apologize for that. I threw the whole rape-thing back into his face. He was right about never directing my anger at him, but it still doesn't make it okay. No wonder he wasn’t very eager to jump my bones. God, I'm such a bitch. 

Logan and Tyee choose that moment to come in, stamping their boots on the wooden floor and getting rid of the snow.

"Three hours, four at the most," Logan says, shrugging off both his jackets and throwing them over a nearby stool.

"Really?" Tyee asks, pleasantly surprised. "Isn't it too slippery?"

"Nah, piece of cake."

Viv rushes up and asks, "Coffee, guys?"

Both men look up and smile. Tyee tells her to sit down because he can get it himself, and he disappears behind the bar. Logan walks up to me. 

It's too late to escape.

"I'm going to be on the roof for a few hours," he says, indicating I have to move so he can sit next to me. "That okay?"

Trying to keep a neutral face, I scoot away and scratch a very annoying itch underneath my cast with the back of my fork. "Sure. I'm going to help Viv clean up."

Viv discreetly leaves the booth, giving us some privacy, and I'm not sure if I wanted to be left alone with him because his intense stare is giving me the shivers.

"When are you going to tell me what's up?" he asks, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t as calm as he looks.

"I'm fine," I mutter lamely, looking away and hoping he'll just let it be until I've found the right words to make a decent excuse for those awful things I've said.

Suddenly his hand cups my cheek, forcing me to meet his eyes. With a tightly-controlled low voice, he whispers, "Don’t lie to me."

Swallowing hard, I fight the sudden lump in my throat. "Later. We'll talk later."

"Tonight."

"Yeah."

Those beautiful hazel eyes hold my stare a little longer, and then he nods once before letting go, returning his attention to the cup of coffee Tyee and Viv are serving.

Would it be very spineless if I call Scott now?

* * *

The rest of the day I try to keep myself busy. I help Vivian with cleaning the bar, and after a few hours, the place has never looked so good. Even Tyee looks surprised and jokes he wants me on the payroll. 

Logan is nowhere to be seen.

By the time the bar opens, I'm tired, my back hurts, and I still haven't thought of an excuse that sounds reasonable. My stomach has shaped into a big knot, but I think it'll only get worse once I'm going to stutter my apology. Yeah, life sure seems fucking great right now.

I reluctantly return to our cabin, and I find Logan reading a newspaper on the bed. The bed we made love in. Or was it just sex?

He looks up, I'm feeling even worse because that’s his poker face and it means I’m so very in the dark.

Still, I take off my coat and say, "Hey." 

He doesn't answer. He folds the newspaper and puts it on the nightstand, so I guess it’s time to cut to the chase.

I sit on the end of the bed and tuck my feet under me. "Talk?"

"I'm listening."

Stretching his long legs, one foot almost touching my knee, he leans back against the headboard. He looks calm enough, but I know he's really pissed off at me. 

How I wish I could pretend this good.

"I'm sorry about all the nasty things I said last night," I tell him, fumbling with one of my gloves.

"Why?"

Huh?

I thought I'd surprise him with this apology, but his quick reply catches me off guard. I thought he expected me to say something about the love-making. Or sex. Whatever it was.

When I look up, I see he's tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed.

"Well, because…," I swallow, "because I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did."

Great. He's not letting me off the hook that easily. I know I don't deserve it, but I kind of hoped he would.

Straightening the fingers of my glove, I try to think of something to say but my mind goes blank. He's right. I *did* mean it even though I don't really remember what I said exactly.

A heavy silence fills the room, and I really don't have a clue what to do now, so I just sit still and wait until my mind starts functioning again. 

Why do I feel this way? Let's do some soul-digging. I feel bad because… because I said those things and… we were through with it already. Yeah, we've talked about it, and I told him I forgave everything he did. So… that makes me a liar. Not on purpose, of course. I really thought I wasn't holding a grudge. I guess I was wrong.

My feet are getting numb, so I stretch my legs too, next to his. "I didn't know I still felt all those things. I'm kind of shocked myself."

He keeps staring at me, and after what seems like minutes, he asks, "So, now what? You're going to use it against me every time things aren't going your way?"

"No. No, of course not. I just… I was mad."

Sighing, Logan stands up and walks to the middle of the room, running both hands through his hair. I wait for a verdict, but when he finally turns around, he simply looks hurt.

I think my heart just stopped beating.

"Fine. That justifies it. You're hurt, and it's my fault. I deserve everything you said, but I'm not going to hang around and wait to get it rubbed in every time I screw up."

Wait, is he going to bail out on me?

"What do you mean?"

He ignores my question and sits down on the bed again, his back to me, his head hanging down tiredly. "Tell me what you want, Marie. Tell me, because I sure as hell don't have a fucking clue."

I sit down next to him. "I want things to be like last night."

"Last night was a lie." He keeps staring at the carpet, "You wanted a new first time, so I gave you one. I *owed* you, remember?"

I cringe, feeling bitterly hurt by my own words. I'm not going to pretend again. I'm going to throw my heart before his feet so he can stamp on it all he wants. I deserve it.

"I thought it was special."

"It was sex." He stand up again and walks away from me. "It's supposed to feel special, but in the end it's nothing but a good fuck. Try any guy and you'll probably feel the same."

Oh. Okay. I didn't know he'd stamp *that* hard.

I’m suddenly so angry, I jump up too. 

"Fine," I snap, grabbing my coat. "You know what? I will."

He doesn't stop me when I flee out of the door, and he doesn't come after me when I run through the snow. If this was a movie, or a book, he would, and he'd see me getting run over by a truck or some other huge vehicle. Then he'd feel all guilty, realizing how much he loves me, and he'd sit by my hospital bed for hours and hours, telling me over and over again what a fool he's been even though I'm unconscious. Of course, then I wake up safe and sound, and we'll live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, this is *real* life. There is no moving truck to be seen. Most care are nicely parked, and the ones that *are* moving are too far away. There are no bad guys to kidnap me either. That usually makes a great plot too. I almost feel disappointed they're all shish kebab-ed at the bottom of Alkali Lake.

Suddenly, reality gets me grounded, quite literally this time. I slip and land on my ass. Hard.

"Oompf!"

I hear some people laughing, and I grit my teeth in frustration. Great. Just great. My life is getting better and better. Enough drama to give me a few bruises, but no way this is getting Logan overwhelmed with guilt and love. 

All sorts of nasty insults fill my head while I'm trying to decide whether I should get up or just stay here and maybe let myself freeze to death. Right now, the latter isn't a very unpleasant thought. Isn’t hypothermia a nice way to die?

Staying down, I decide I might as well take this moment to assess the mess am I in now. I guess I've done it again. I really should learn to get a hold on that temper of mine. Maybe Logan and I should switch nicknames or something. I'm far more aggressive than he is lately. What's *wrong* with me? I never thought this whole prison-rape-thing would affect me *this* much.

Ugh, I should get up. Freezing my ass isn't solving anything. Besides, I think I just got a light bulb moment. What if Logan's trying to hurt me deliberately to avoid dealing with his own feelings? 

Okay, so it's a shot in the dark, but let's think about it for a second. Viv told me he thinks he's not good enough. I don't really know the context of it all, but at least it means he's given *us* some thought. *Us*, as in a relationship other than friendship. Otherwise he would've told her flat out he simply doesn't love me like that. It makes sense, right? Right. Okay. I think I should get up and apologize. Again.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Of course. It totally fits. Now he finds me here, lying in the snow just a few steps away from our cabin, looking like a total dork. No overwhelming guilt, no confessions of love, just a scowl and a grunt while he’s peering down. Yep, this is the *real* world all right.

Taking a deep breath, I stretch my arms into the sky. "Checking the stars, looking for answers."

"Did you find any?"

"Stars or answers?"

"Either. Both."

"Yeah, that one tells me that I should apologize again," I tell him, pointing out a blinking light in the sky. "So, I'm sorry."

This time he doesn’t ask why. Instead, he says, "I'm sorry too."

I wonder which part he's sorry for, but I don't ask. I don't think I *really* want to know.

"That little twinkling thingy suggests that maybe we should swap nicks. It thinks me and my temper make a pretty good Wolverine."

"It's a plane."

"Oh, figures," I say, sitting up. “It sounded like a stupid idea." I turn around and just keep on sitting in the snow. "I'm sorry for the things I said, Logan. You didn't deserve it. Honestly."

He walks away a few steps, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Maybe we can both sign up for anger management class. Get a discount or something. I bet Scooter will be pleased."

His attempt to lighten up the moment is so unexpected, it takes a while to sink in. Then I giggle at the thought and throw a little snowball his way. He avoids it easily, grabbing a handful of snow himself.

Oh, fuck.

I scramble up and hide behind a car. Before we know it, we're having a snow fight, the white parking lot as our personal battlefield. Some people are joining in, and we all crouch, duck and roll through the snow, laughing like a bunch of kids on a playground.

After a few failed attempts to hit him, I sigh, holding up my hands in surrender. "Okay, I give up."

"Never trust your enemy," he lectures, walking up to me. 

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, sugar.”

Instead of answering, he rubs a hand full of snow in my face.

Well… I guess that means we're good again?


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter was supposed to be the original ending of this fic. It was written before anything else, but when I started writing the rest, things went a different route and so much more happened. This ending wasn't going to cut it anymore, but I wanted to keep it in anyway. I’ll just continue the story, taking it from here.
> 
> For those of you who haven't read Origin (comic), check the wiki page [HERE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Origin_\(comics\)), so you'll know what I'm talking about.

About twelve hours since we've said goodbye to Tyee and Vivian. Our schedule is messed up because we left too late. We agreed not to stop at the hotel near Alkali Lake but just drive all night. We've spent it in silence mostly. It’s wasn’t an awkward one, but I can't call it comfortable either. I tried to get some sleep, but I was so aware of him. All the time. 

There are bruises on my skin and there’s a slight burning between my legs. It doesn’t hurt. It’s not even uncomfortable. It’s just a reminder of what happened, even though it would’ve been easier to just forget. Our relationship looks fine on the outside, but I know there are too many things left unsaid since that Morning-After of Doom. Things I don’t know how to discuss. Things I don’t really understand.

Now, we’re back to the place where it all went downhill. We’re looking over the water, both silent and too far apart. Our last touch was when Logan cut off my cast last night. Jean gave us her approval by phone. He used one of his claws, and like a well-practiced surgeon, he slid through the material without hurting my skin underneath. I'm holding it in my hands, wanting to throw it away here. I guess it’s some sort of closure. It’s really time to move on. 

The lake looks so peaceful and serene. How can something so beautiful contain so much ugliness? This is a place with so much pain, so much fear. A place that holds a part of me, and it’s holding a part of our relationship as well. Are we going to make it through? I really don’t know anymore. I thought we could, but every time things seem okay, something happens and everything gets screwed up again. Mostly because of me. After all, it’s because of me we ended up in this god-awful bunker in the first place. 

I glance next to me. “When are you going to tell me ‘I told you so?’”

“I told you so,” he says flatly. The lack of emotion makes me cringe more than the words. 

I don’t know what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s fed up with all this. Maybe he’s fed up with me. I can’t blame him. He’s putting up with so much of my crap. I’m starting to get sick and tired of myself as well. Our entire relationship seems to be built on my wants and needs only. Everything he’s done, it’s always been about me. From the moment we met, he’s been trying to make sure I’m okay, no matter what the costs. 

I glance at him again. “Are you ever going to make things about you?”

He doesn’t seem surprised by my question. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re too young.” 

It seems rather cryptic to me. 

“I don’t get it.”

He sighs and kicks a pebble into the lake. “I know.”

I still don’t get it, but don’t have the energy for another fight. I just stare into the water instead. 

I’m in such a dark mood, I almost expect to see chopped off limbs floating under the surface. Or just a head, its mouth still twisted in a soundless scream, forever separated from its body by nine inches of adamantium. But there is nothing there. It’s just a lake. A big lake and a hole in the dam. No other traces of our horrible adventure. 

I throw my cast away. It lands into the water with a splash. It’s the only sound around here, and it feels anticlimactic. 

Logan moves next to me and his arm grazes mine. It's an insignificant touch, careless even, but it's enough to make me notice.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, and I know it's an apology for a lot of things. Not just for what happened here.

"Me too," I answer, fighting back those annoying tears. "I think… I want to go Anchorage by myself. After Alberta.”

"Okay."

That's it. Just a simple 'okay'. I thought he'd tell me I'm too young to be on my own, too irresponsible, or too whatever, but 'okay' is all I get.

Maybe he understands my wish to be alone, or maybe he's just really done with me. Maybe this closure isn't about the lab alone. Maybe… we're done with each other too.

* * *

The Howlett Hotel.

We’ve been staring at the sign for forever. Like it's going to reveal all the answers of Logan's past if we watch it long enough, but all I've discovered so far is that the wood desperately needs new paint. 

It took us about 10 hours to get here. Again, we’ve travelled in relative silence. We talked about necessities, like when to stop for lunch and which road to take. I dozed off a couple of times, and Kitty and Jubes called back to tell about anything they'd found on the internet. They said the Howlett Estate has a reputation to be built on a foundation of tears. After all we’ve been though, it had made my skin crawl.

Now, we’re staring at the sign and I don’t know what to make of it yet. A stone wall’s surrounding the land, and we've stopped right in front of the entrance. The sign also says 'Welcome', and somehow it reminds me of one of those old western movies my dad used to watch. I vaguely remember a redhead going to a farm and finding an entire family killed in there. Those thoughts aren’t doing me any good.

"Anything?" I ask Logan, and I push the dark thoughts out of sight.

"I think… Jeannie was here."

“Jean?” I ask, and I look at him for the first time in hours. 

He frowns, trying to understand his own words. "We were kids."

That's impossible. I don't know Logan's real age, but I do know he looks like he's in his mid-thirties for the past fifteen years, so he has to be around fifty at least.

"You're way older than her."

He throws me an irritated look. "I know."

Well, excuse me. Jesus.

He looks around, and then closes his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "It can't be Jean," he whispers, clearly upset, "But I remember her. Here, in this place."

Shit, he's serious. He's actually remembering things. This might be it after all. But Jean? What the hell has she got to do with his past? And if she knows him, why didn't she tell?

Even from a distance, I can feel the tension in his body. 

What if coming here was a mistake? What if he finds out even more bad things? He never actually talked about what happened at Alkali Lake. He didn't tell me about the nights he was gone. He still got it all bottled up inside, and I don't think he can take any more crap right now. Maybe I should make a phone call. I have a feeling I’m going to need backup if Logan's going to lose it here.

"Want me to call her?"

"No." He puts the car into gear and we drive to the parking lot. 

Whoa… This place is big. Really big. It's a fucking fortress. How can someone forget a place like this?

After the truck is parked, we both walk up to the huge, double doors. I push the doorbell, and it seems so out of place. A fortress with a doorbell. Like the enemy is going to announce itself by ringing the front door.

The door swings open, revealing an older woman with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. "Hello, dear. How may I help you?"

I smile back and say, "I was hoping you’d have a room available, preferably two. My brother and I--"

I can't finish the sentence, because the woman takes a look at Logan and gasps, clutching her hands over her heart. 

"Thomas!"

* * *

“She thought you were a ghost," I say, sitting on the bed when Logan walks into my room after a brief inspection of his own sleeping place. 

"Yeah."

The woman he almost scared to death turns out to be 'Aunt Katie', just like the man in the restaurant told us. After her hysterical shriek, a man came to the rescue. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Logan, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open. It was all very confusing.

When it was obvious no one was going to say anything, I explained in a hurry about how we ran into a man and told them about his persistence to check out this place. I said he was positive Logan might be related to someone who once lived on these grounds, and then Katie was very embarrassed about her dramatic performance. She introduced herself and her husband, his name is Abe Winters.

We both got invited in, and after a hot cup of coffee, Katie laughed cheerfully and gave us the best rooms of the estate, chatting away about her family and the so called ghosts this hotel is famous for. Logan's been acting edgy, and there is something about this place that's giving me the creeps as well.

I check his body language. Something’s off. "What's wrong?" I ask, and he sighs, looking around. 

"I get flashes of thoughts, feelings. It's… I don't know."

"Bad feelings?"

"Yeah." He restlessly shifts his weight from one foot to another. "I'll meet you downstairs."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he almost flees out of my room. I quickly change clothes, splash some water on my face and take a look out of my window. There’s a labyrinth of hedges behind the house, just like the one at the Mansion. Staring at the green maze, I decide to make the call to the Professor. I don't have a good feeling about all this.

* * *

Dinner was awkward. The other guests kept staring at us, and Logan's visibly uncomfortable. I explained our rehearsed story to several people who were brave enough to ask why Logan is dressed up as the tragic hero of the Howlett Tale, and Abe later apologized for their odd behavior.

He’s told us Thomas Logan is the main character of the ghost story this hotel is famous for. Every week Abe and Katie gather all the guests in the main room and tell the tale, followed by a tour through the hotel. They end in a gallery that contains paintings, sketches and even photos. To them, Thomas is just a name, a fictional person in a story they exploit to make a living, but seeing Logan's resemblance in real life had scared the hell out of them, and of course, it had made the other guests curious.

I asked if we could see the gallery. They were happy to comply. They gave us a private tour and we listened to some fatalistic love-story between the gardener and the mistress of the house. It reminded me of Lady Chatterley's Lover. There are so many characters involved, I wondered where Logan could fit in. Maybe he's Thomas' mysterious son, only known by the name of Dog, but when Katie told me Dog wasn't a happy child, blaming his abusive father, I started praying he's not.

The tale captivated me though. I wished I could go back in time and see for myself what had actually happened in the room of Elizabeth Howlett the night she, her lover Thomas, and her husband John had died. Thomas didn’t measure up with my standards of a romantic hero after knowing he used his son as a punching bag, so why he hell did she fall for him in the first place? I’m sure it couldn’t be looks only. The man sounded like a first class asshole to me.

Because the entire story is based on rumors only, there are many questions still unanswered. What had happened to the eldest son John Howlett, who died under mysterious circumstances at the age of twelve? Where did the weak, youngest son James and his lovely nanny Rose run to after they'd found out James' parents were killed? Where did Dog go? Who killed who and why? And what about the mysterious scars on Mrs. Howlett's body? Katie described them as claw marks. When I glanced at Logan, his shocked eyes met mine for a split second before turning away to hide his reaction from the older couple.

I must’ve asked a thousand questions. I wanted to know everything about the relationships of these people, I wanted to know their ages when the tragedy happened, why Master John’s father sold the estate, and when did he die? I wanted to know every single detail of the legend, but the more answers I got, the more questions raised.

Finally, after walking for an hour from room to room, we’re now ending the tour in the gallery. The moment the large, wooden doors open, we’re greeted by paintings, faded black and white photos and sketches - some roughly drawn, others amazingly detailed. I don't know where to look first. The paintings are colorful and rich, but none of the people looks like Logan, and so I scan the room until my eyes stop at a well-drawn sketch of a man working in the garden. I almost run to check it out, my heart thumping against my ribcage.

It's Thomas Logan, and yes, he looks like my Logan, but he's not the man I know so well. There is something in his eyes, in his stance, that doesn't seem to fit. I turn around to point out this drawing to the others, but I see Logan staring at a painting of the family. 

The man in the beautiful work of art stands tall, proud and handsome next to the seated form of his wife. My first thought is that Mrs. Howlett must've been a fool to cheat on him, no matter how sexy Thomas must’ve been. John looks like a very kind man. Kind, but righteous. There’s something honorable about him I instantly like.

His hand is placed on the shoulder of Elizabeth. She seems to be staring at something in the distance. Something only she knows about. She's not particularly pretty, but her features are refined, making her look sophisticated and elegant. The lines around her mouth are hard though. She looks sad, disappointed in life. Maybe she misses her lover Thomas.

Or maybe I'm just making this all up because I'm a sucker for tragic love stories.

On the other side of Mrs. Howlett is a little boy, all dressed up in a cute outfit appropriate for the late nineteenth century. He's about eight or nine years old, and a little dog takes a peek from behind his legs. The description underneath the painting says, 'John, Elizabeth and James Howlett' and I think I know now why Mrs. Howlett looks so sad; her eldest son is gone already.

Eyeing the painting a little better, I think young James looks quite pale. Still, there is also something charming about his shy smile. It’s a cute little thing, even if he looks a bit weak and sickly.

Logan seems to be fascinated by the family portrait. He still hasn't moved an inch. 

Glancing at the owners of this place, I see Katie slowly shaking her head and elbowing her husband. "Go get Mr. Logan a glass of whiskey, Abe. He looks like he needs it." 

I check for myself, and he doesn’t look too good indeed. His frozen stare makes me watch the painting again, and suddenly I know why he's so upset. The withdrawn little boy has pretty hazel eyes. Eyes I’m all too familiar with. That boy… is Logan. 

"Mr. Logan?" Abe's holding up a glass of liqueur, but Logan doesn't seem to be aware of anything but the painting. I quickly take the glass and turn around.

"I'm sorry. Would you excuse us for a moment? I think my brother doesn't feel very well." I show them my most reassuring smile and push them gently, but evenly out of the room. They're too surprised to protest, and once they're inside the hall, I close the door and lean against it.

"Logan?"

"James," he whispers breathlessly. "My name… it's James."

The next moment he's out cold.

* * *

Once upon a time.

Don’t you think these are the most fascinating words ever? They represent an entire universe on their own, a world which includes princesses, princes, knights and witches. And while we’re at it, we might as well throw in an evil stepmother and a couple of ugly stepsisters. Hell, you want dwarfs and elves, too? Sure, go ahead. It’s a package-deal anyway.

Yes, those little words were an opening to our fantasies once. And now, they are a crack in time. They take us back to our childhood, just for a brief moment. Back then, those words were a promise of something pleasant. When evil things happened, there were always heroes to take care of it all. It was something we all wanted. Something we believed in. 

Today, we ought to know that stories starting with those words are plain crap. Fairy-tales, myths, or legends we call them. ‘Cause you see, there is an unspoken rule in fiction-land. When you start with ‘Once upon a time’, you have to end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’. And you know what? Real-life stories simply don’t end that way. No one lives ‘happily ever after’. Absolutely no one.

Nevertheless, ‘Once upon a time’ were the words I heard when I found out about Logan’s past; words that represented the beginning of his life. The real life of a real person. Not a fairytale about princes and princesses, and certainly not with the ‘happily ever after’ ending.

While staring at the man I still love more than life itself, I wonder: could life be any more cruel?

"Rogue?" Jean gently puts her hands on my shoulders, standing behind the chair I'm curled up in for the most of these past three days. "Try to get some sleep. I'll stay here."

Not taking my eyes off of Logan, I say, "I can't. I have to stay."

She walks over and kneels in front of me, her hands on my knees, rubbing the fabric of my jeans. "You know what Charles's said. He won't wake up for quite some time. If he ever wakes up at all."

Yes, I know. I heard him say he can't find any sign of life in Logan's mind. His exact words were, 'Like I was trying to connect with the deceased', but I know Logan's still in there. Probably somewhere so deep not even Xavier can reach him. Maybe he’s in the same place he’s kept all those painful memories from the past.

"He'll wake up eventually," I tell her stubbornly. "He always does."

Jean sighs. The look in her eyes make me even more determined to stay put. I hate the caring-mixed-with-pity look. She's got it down to an art form. Did she learn that look in medical school?

"Those times his body needed healing, not his mind," she says.

"He's hurt, he heals. It's the same."

I know she thinks I'm not accepting the fact Logan's mind might be too damaged to wake up. I guess she's right. The man I love is not going to spend an eternal live as some vegetable in a bed. It can't be. His body is too alive, too healthy.

She tries again. "You need some rest."

"I'll sleep here."

We've moved him into his own room after I've made quite a scene about him being strapped down in the lab again. Scott didn't want to take the risk of getting anyone hurt if he wakes up in some sort of berserker rage, but I pleaded, screamed and cried until they finally gave in. They don’t believe he's aware of his surroundings, but I don’t care. If he’s going to wake up some day, he’s not going to wake up in a lab.

Closing her eyes, Jean bends her head. "Okay. You know where to find me, right? If there is any change in his condition--"

"--I'll push the button. I know."

His room is cramped with all kinds of medical stuff. They’re monitoring and registering his condition every minute of the day. I hate to see him stuck to machines. It’s completely unnecessary and it’ll remind him of the lab.

Jean stands up, and as she walks away, she sighs again. "Goodnight, Rogue."

I don't answer. I'm too busy trying to twist and turn every possibility of this situation into something with a happy ending.

If the Professor’s right and Logan's condition doesn't change at all, I'm going to touch him as soon as I get my mutation back. I'll take him in entirely. I can't live with the thought of him being trapped inside a body that might live forever. I don't know what it will do to me, but all I know is that I won't allow him to spend his days all alone in there. I'm going to hold on until his body gives up, and I hope I'll have him inside my head until the day I'll die too. If I don't - his healing might become permanent – then I'll have him with me for the rest of a never ending life.

Considering the circumstances, it's the best 'happily ever after' scenario I can think of.


	41. Chapter 41

I've made so many mistakes. 

I have all the time in the world to punish myself by recalling every stupid decision I've ever made. Nights are filled with shame, guilt and regret as I stare at Logan. The real victim here isn't me. I'm just a supporting character. The one who made such a mess of everything.

Funny how this situation makes me realize how childish I was about my feelings. Logan was right. I really am too young. I should’ve told him about my uncertainty after we'd slept together. I should’ve let him finish what he wanted to say. The past ten weeks he’s tried to talk about our relationship a couple of times, and all I did was shut him up or run. All because I got scared. Scared it might be something I didn't want to hear. That's real grown up. Running from the truth. And the irony was that he knew I wasn't ready. 

I don't know when our relationship changed, but somewhere along the way it did. I don't even know whether he knows for himself when he started to see me as something more than his friend, his family. Hell, I have no idea what made him care in the first place. Maybe I was in the right place, at the right time. Who knows? All I know is that he loves me. He loves me, and all this time I never really knew.

Looking back, his feelings were bare in everything he did. Just like Vivian told me. And then I’d felt it in his kisses, his touch, the way he looked at me. He didn't hold back once he gave up his resistance, but how could he tell me his feelings after all those awful things I'd said? I practically forced him to give me a new first time. It wasn't something natural. The affection was real, but the situation wasn't. He was right when he said it was a lie. I was just too occupied with my own doubts to see it all clearly. I know now though. A week of self-reflection was something I needed to get my head all cleared up. 

I'm also sure that's what his 'get this over with' was all about. He was tired of trying to make me understand he was holding back until I'd given up on fairytales. Until I'd given up on making him my hero, my knight in shining armor. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I *did* put him on a pedestal. Yes, he fell off a couple of times, but I just put him back up there eventually. I kept admiring him from a distance, thinking I’d never be good enough, pretty enough, interesting enough. I never really saw him as just a man. Just a man with his own grief. A man who's broken, lost and sick of this life. If I'd known, I would've put far more effort in making him talk. I wouldn’t have let him brush me off that easily. I would’ve stood up for myself. For his sake.

While the hours pass, I think about my stupid fantasies and my silly expectations. I realize it's *me* who sits next to *him* while he's unconscious. It's *me* who's overwhelmed by guilt, love and shame. I’m almost starting to think if I’ve ended up in a book with a really crappy cliché plot. Everybody thinks I'm strong for staying at Logan's side day and night, but I'm not. I need to do this. I need to stay until I know he's going to wake up. As long as he's out, I've got no other place to go. 

I watch him breathe. I watch his heartbeat on the monitor. I eat, I drink, I take a shower, I stretch my legs, but my life is reduced to the two rooms of this mansion Logan and I used to live in. Faye has moved in with Hank, and she was the first I poured my heart out to. Of course, she knew what had happened between Logan and me in Alkali Lake, and she already knew my love for him. She listened without prejudice, and she didn't choose sides. I really needed that. 

Jean was second. I know now why Logan is so attracted to her. She's the spitting image of his former nanny Rose. I can't help feeling somewhat sorry for her. Logan doesn't love her. He never did. He subconsciously projected his devotion for Rose. I don't know if I should be happy or sad about knowing all this. It makes Jean either second best, or she's the improved version of the girl who has obviously meant so much to him.

Jean doesn’t know any of this. She was too wrapped up in taking care of him after she, Scott and Ororo arrived to get us back to the Mansion. I’ve waited three hours for the jet, and I’ve spend it in the gallery, studying the sketches between checking up on Logan and trying to calm down Abe and Katie. It sure was a hell of a day, but being surrounded by Logan's past somehow gave me the strength to stay level-headed enough and take care of the whole situation. 

Considering the large amount of drawings from the kitchen, I think a servant has made them. They were a wonderful collection of every day life at the estate back then. In every picture and every sketch I tried to find little James. Who ever made those drawings, he or she sure must've cared a lot about the little boy. He was portrayed so very often - sometimes alone, playing outside with a hoop or that little dog, sometimes with his friends near the labyrinth, and sometimes with his family. Some illustrations were finished, some where roughly drawn, but they were always beautiful, and they always showed emotion. 

I think that's what made me see Logan in a different daylight as well. Suddenly he has a name, a past. He had parents, he friends, and he lived in that enormous house. It's so hard to believe he was born in 1889. He's over a hundred years old, but all this time he's never truly forgotten Rose. She must've been a wonderful person to stand the test of time.

I'm surprised I’m not jealous. For some reason I only feel gratitude towards the girl. The pictures of them together show me she cared for him a lot as well. How can I feel resentment for someone who made him feel loved? I just wish I knew what happened to them after they ran away together. I'm sure she wanted to protect him from the horrible things that happened that awful night his parents were killed, but there isn't a single lead to hold on to. 

Maybe Logan can tell me one day. I hope they'd found some sort of peace somewhere. Maybe they eventually became lovers. I hope she gave him the happiness I want to give him now. I know I can't compete to a first love, and maybe I can't even compete to what he feels for Jean, but I'm willing to try if he lets me. 

I don't know what will happen once Logan wakes up. Some people know we've slept together because I told them, some only assume and don’t ask. There are people who know the world isn't just black and white only, but there are many others who don't want to look beyond the age difference. It's funny in a way. Is there anyone out there for a man over a hundred years old? I really don’t think so.

I’m glad the Professor understands what we have. Scott doesn't want to hear any of it. Jean was shocked, Ororo wasn't surprised at all. Everybody has an opinion, everybody deals with all this differently. It doesn't really matter to me. Nothing matters as long as Logan isn’t awake. My life is on hold, and the pointers of the clock above the desk are the only reminders that life in general simply trudges on. 

The Professor told me there is a possibility Logan wakes up with no memories again. What do we tell him then? Nothing? He might go chase ghosts again and end up in a vicious circle. Every time he finds the answers, he realizes he doesn't want to know after   
all because the truth is too painful to cope with. What’s going to happen if we tell him everything we know?

The Professor told me can put fake memories in Logan's mind, securing with some sort of mental blocks. He told me I can have the life with Logan I always dreamt off, but I don't think I've ever heard something so immoral. It would be the ultimate betrayal. Not just to Logan, but to myself as well. How could he even think about something so wrong? Doesn't he know I can never live with a lie like that? I'd rather let him go than keeping him here with me in some sort of make-believe life. 

It took me some time, but I finally know what real love is all about. Real love isn't selfish. It's about making sure the one you love is happy. Even if that means you have to let go.

* * *

"Hey, babe. How're you holding up?"

Faye. She's standing in the doorway, waiting for a sign to come in. I'd like to talk to her, but not about me. 

"Did you know Logan paid for the whole trip?" I ask, sitting in the dark and staring at he man who's still somewhere lost inside himself.

She takes that as an invitation and sits down in the chair next to mine without turning on the lights. "No."

"He did. He never told me. He paid for my stay here as well."

"Oh." She stares at Logan as well. "How did you find out?"

"Talked to the Professor. I wanted to thank him."

Turning her head to look at me, she guesses, "And he couldn't let you show your gratefulness without deserving it?"

"Yeah."

She chuckles softly and we both fall silent for a few moments, comfortable in the dark. 

"Why didn't he tell me?" I ask rhetorical, but she answers anyway. 

"I don't think it was that big of a deal to him. I'm sure he didn't want you to feel obligated or anything. You know, something Logan-ish."

That makes me smile because she knows him so well.

"I guess."

Again, a silence falls in. I think about Logan paying all that money. He hardly knew me back then. The Professor told me he'd arranged the financials the day he left for the first time. Maybe that's why he was so uncomfortable before he gave me his tags. He was   
hiding something. 

Of course, I've always known he has money. I know from his memories it's quite a lot even though he doesn’t care for wealth at all. Cage fighting can be lucrative business, and a fortune is easily made while playing poker and having enhanced senses. I never really thought about it until I found out he's taking care of me in more ways than saving my ass now and then. It sure sounds like something Logan-ish all right. 

Faye studies the monitors and sighs. I should ask her about her and Hank. How they are doing now that she's living with him. They didn't wait very long, but then again, why would they? They don't have to fight prejudice. They’re both adults, they love each other, and everybody thinks they look cute together. It’s so different for Logan and me, and so I say nothing at all, wrapped up in my own bitterness. 

I never said I was perfect. 

"I can touch him," she suddenly says, and my eyes snap to hers. 

"What do you mean?"

"I can transfer your thoughts or feelings to him if you'd like."

"You think you can reach him?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. We can try."

It's a thought. Maybe she can. Maybe I can make him feel how much he's loved in this world. Maybe it’ll be enough to make him fight his way back. Why didn't I think of that before?

"Okay."

She smiles a bright smile now. Her elf-like ears seem to glow as we brace ourselves for the transfer. 

"Relax," she whispers, placing one hand over mine. "Make sure you *feel* what you want to say, don't *think* it."

Easier said than done, of course. 

Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths and focus on the task. 

For a few moments I'm nothing but calm inside myself. I try to gather all my feelings for Logan in one knot of love. I actually feel peaceful inside. Is this what it feels like when you’re meditating? 

As soon as I start thinking about what I'm thinking, I'm out of the moment and Faye releases her grip. 

"Did you peek?" I ask, curiously smiling, and she smiles back. 

"Of course. I had to check you're sending him something good. I don't want him to get worse."

"And?"

"I never felt something so warm inside of me. So good, so… divine. I suggest you sign an application to be the next Dalai Lama." 

Now she makes me laugh. "You think he felt it?"

"Don't know. I just jammed it into him. If he's *there*, he must've felt it." She thinks about it. "Would it be very unethical to test his presence? Reverse roles?"

Oh, she could! But… it's wrong. Damnit, it's *so* wrong. It's prying, it's stealing, it's violating someone's privacy.

"We shouldn't. I want to, but… you know. Let’s leave it to the Professor."

I shrug and suddenly I'm on the verge of crying. I give her a quick hug and blurt, "I'm sorry I'm such a lousy friend. I know I should drop by to admire your rooms, but I can't. Not until I know he's going to be all right"

She pats my back. "I know. It's okay."

"Thanks. For uh… well, everything. For maybe helping him."

Now she hugs me, and holding me tight, she jokes in a small voice, "What can I say? I'm just a sucker for big, hairy men."

* * *

"Anything?"

I hopefully watch Charles lowering his hands and sitting up straight again. He's been trying to catch a glimpse of Logan for the past week and a half, but so far there was nothing to connect with. 

"I believe he's still with us."

"I knew it!" I jump up and run over to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you!"

He chuckles discreetly and looks a little embarrassed by my sudden outburst. "He is not yet returned, but I have no doubt he will emerge from his shelter in a matter of time. That leaves his condition my only remaining concern at this present."

He can't hold back a superior smile and I wonder what plans he's brooding over when he's in bed at night. Sometimes I really think this kind-looking man is not someone to underestimate, but for now he's Professor Xavier, the man who's going to bring my Logan back to me.

* * *

It took the Professor four days to get enough grip on Logan's consciousness to have an actual talk, but when he turned to me to tell me the results, I knew enough. Logan didn't remember a single thing about what had happened. 

I tried not to show how disappointed I was, but he wasn't fooled that easily. He assured me he's going to help Logan regaining his memories again, and he suggested this might be the right time to focus on myself for a while. It was his subtle way of saying I had to get lost, because maybe my presence is going to do Logan any good. After all, we've been through some heavy stuff together. 

Three hours later I was packed and on my way to the airport. I thought it might be wise to fly to Anchorage instead of driving, because a) it would be a hell of a lot faster and b) so far, trying to get there by car hadn’t been a success. The choice was obvious. 

The entire flight I told myself I was doing what was best for Logan, but I felt like abandoning our friendship. Still, the Professor thought it was wise to keep us separated for a while, and since I *really* needed some time alone, leaving the mansion seemed logical.

I took a taxi to the hotel, and I was pleasantly surprised my room turned out to be the penthouse. The Professor was apparently taking care of the both of us.

* * *

The day before yesterday the Professor told me Logan woke up. He didn't know who or where he was, but most of his memories returned within hours. *Most* of them, because he somehow managed to forget the past year. The year where I was a big part of   
his life. I try not to be offended by it, but going by the amount of Kleenex around my bed, I don't think I'm succeeding very well. My existence is reduced to a suppressed memory. Isn't that just wonderful?

The Professor convinced Logan he had a past in the Mansion, and they've been talking and trying to figure out a way to get through to his defense system. It’s apparently blocking all painful memories. Of course, I flinched when I heard that. Apparently my decision to sneak into his trailer was the beginning of something painful. Well, yay me.

My cell starts ringing, and I answer the call, praying for some good news. "Hello?"

"Heya, Roguey! How's it hanging?"

"Jubes! Hey. I'm fine. How are you? How's Logan?"

I hear a loud plop from her bubble gum and then she says dryly, "At least you asked how I'm doing first."

Smiling, I know she's right. I've been way too occupied with myself and Logan. I *really* have wonderful friends, and I *really* should show more often how much they mean to me. 

"I'm sorry. I'm a bitch, I know."

She chuckles. "But I love my bitch, so I'm going tell you what I've done to help you."

"Oh?" Now she's got me all curious. 

"Yeah. Remember the photo album you keep stashed in the back of your closet?"

"Yeah?"

"I showed it to your man."

Oh, fuck. I'd asked Jubes to secretly make some photo's with her cell phone because I wanted something to dwell over when Logan was gone. Of course, she frantically started taking quite a lot of pics, mostly where Logan and I are simply hanging out together. 

"You didn't," I groan, hoping this won’t cause any more complications in Logan’s life right now.

"Yes, chica, I did. Smartest shit I've ever done, if you ask me." 

I just *know* she's got a huge smug grin plastered on her face. 

She continues, "It was like this, I heard something in your room, so I wanted to check it out, right? I mean, hey, you're gone and Faye moved out, so someone has to take care of your stuff. Being the kick-ass friend that I am, I made sure none of those little shits could enter your domain. Of course, I didn't expect to run into every woman's wet dream personified--"

I roll my eyes at that, but smile anyway and let her ramble. 

"--but since you guys never lock that door between your rooms, it's only obvious it was him. He didn't recognize me, and the Prof had told everybody about his condition in case we ran into him, so I was really, really careful. I mean, I was wearing my newest jacket and didn't want it to get clawed, you know?"

Best to agree. Heart of gold, but a sense logic isn't her strongest trait. "Of course."

"Right. So, I was trying to talk to him, and he just kept staring at me. I thought he was gone wonky for real, but then he suddenly asked me where he could find you."

"Me?” I suddenly sit up straight. “He remembered me?"

"Well, not really *you*, but he said no one matched your scent, and he said it was all over in his room - by the way, what did you do when he was out , you naughty girl?”

“Jubes, please.”

“Right. Anyway, he came to find the source of the scent. Or something like that. You know, it's kind of hard to concentrate on his grunts when he's not wearing a shirt. He really should walk around more often without his clothes. Why the hell is he always covered in all those layers?"

"Please, stick to the story? I’m really dying here."

"Oh, yeah. Okay. So… where was I? Shirtless hunk, scents… Right. Okay, so I told him you were gone for a while because you've been through a lot. You know, yada yada, but I told him you two were peas in a pot. He became a little suspicious about that, so then I had my moment of brilliance and showed him the album."

I'm clutching onto my cell, desperate for any sort of news, and I'm getting really impatient. 

"And then what?"

Another plop of gum. "Uh… what do you mean?"

I love that girl. I really do, but sometimes I just get the urge to kill her. 

"What did he do? Did he take a look at it? Did he say anything?"

"Well, he just took the album and left."

Oh. Okay. So he must've seen the pics by now. No big deal. Most of the pics were taken when we were sitting in the cafeteria or when we where outside around the mansion. Some were shot during Christmas, some in the garage with him hovering over some engine while I'm covered in oil and grease, pretending to know what I’m doing. She managed to shoot one while we were doing a Tai Chi workout in the woods – that’s a good one. We were very much in harmony. It’s probably enough proof to show him we were close. Maybe it'll bring back some of his memories, although I don't think the Professor is going to like it. He doesn't want Logan to remember anything bad right now. 

"Rogue? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. It's okay. Showing him the album is okay. It'll be nice for him to see he has a history with us. Like, proof."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You two look good together, you know? Happy. Even Logan. I wanted to show him he belongs here with us. He's a part of our crazy mixed up family."

That brings me to tears. I'm such an emotional wreck. And Jubes - she really has a heart of gold. Despite her cocky attitude, she longs for a family to make up for the loss of her own. We all do. I'm so glad we all found that bond under Xavier's roof. 

"You're right. Thanks, sugar. I… I really appreciate you're trying to help. I wish I could be there, but… well, it's best if I stay here for a while."

'Yeah, I know. You just hang in there, chica. Kitty, Faye and I look out for your man. Don't worry. You'll have him back to rub your scent all over him in no time. Sounds kind of kinky if you ask me."

I chuckle. "Okay. Thanks, Jubes."

"Anytime, Roguey."


	42. Chapter 42

My fourth day in Anchorage and I haven’t been outside except for the ride from the airport to this hotel. I’m spending my time between ordering room service, sleeping, and bawling like crazy until my eyes are all puffy and red. Never knew I still had that many tears left, and I sure didn’t know I was this exhausted. It feels good to indulge in self-pity though. I whole-heartily surrender to wallowing, dwelling and brooding while stuffing myself with the best muffins, brownies and apple-pie I’ve ever tasted. Who needs therapy when there is food?

The Professor told me Logan has been asking questions about me. He wants to know the ins and outs of our odd relationship, and the Professor told him he wasn’t the right person to explain the bond we share. He contacted me and asked if Logan could give me a call. He knew I couldn’t refuse. 

The moment we got off the phone I’d been waiting for my cell to ring, but after a few hours of bracing myself for a difficult conversation, it still wasn’t making a sound. I checked it a few times to see if it was still working, and when it did, I just gave up. 

I took a bath, tried to relax – which was impossible - and then crawled into bed with a glass of water and another box of Kleenex to watch Bridges of Madison County for the third time. I was about in tears, yelling to Meryl Streep she had to leave her family and jump in the car with Clint Eastwood to elope, when my cell started ringing. My heart just about dropped to the floor. 

For some reason I couldn’t make myself pick up the damn phone, and so I just sat there, hoping the caller wouldn’t know I was hiding even though I knew that was ridiculously stupid. When my cell finally stopped, I found myself shaking and out of breath, but also cursing my own cowardice. I told myself I *had* to pick it up if it’s going to ring within five minutes. 

So here I am now, glaring at my cell and the clock, hoping it won’t ring. I can always switch it off, but that feels like betrayal, and--oh! There it is! Shit. Why did I agree with this?

I pick it up with trembling hands. “Hello?”

There is a short silence before I hear the deep voice I know so well. “Rogue?”

Of course, he doesn’t remember my real name. It’s such a shock to hear him calling me ‘Rogue’ I sit up straight and knock over the glass of water. 

“Fuck! Oh, shit. Sorry. I… uh… hang on!”

Fuck fuck fuck. This is *not* the composed behavior I’d been aiming at. 

I hastily clean up my mess and try not to freak out too much. Oh, crap. What is he going to think about this? This second introduction is even worse than our first.

“Okay,” I say after I’ve got myself somewhat back together again. “Sorry about that. Uh… hey. How’re doing?”

Ugh. Can I behave any more stupid?

Logan sounds partly annoyed, partly worried when he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I uh… I knocked over my glass. It’s no big deal.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Do you know why I’m calling?”

“Yeah. I’m… I’m glad to hear your voice again. I’ve missed you.”

Oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said that. He doesn’t know who I am after all. It’s pretty silly to hear that from someone you think you’ve never met. The Professor told me to keep the conversation light and neutral. No emotions, no details. Well, no *important* details. Details that might upset him. I have to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t remember me.”

He doesn’t answer and now I’m the one who’s getting worried.

“Logan?”

Again, it stays quiet for a moment, but then he suddenly comes straight to the point. “I saw pictures of us. They say we're pretty close.”

“They're right.”

“How close exactly?”

Oh, boy. I really hate keeping secrets for him. 

“We're… very good friends. Best friends. I think.”

His voice is laced with irony when he says, “I’m best friends with an eighteen-year-old girl.”

I’m not used to hearing him talk like that. It’s the reserved tone he uses for someone he doesn’t know and doesn’t give a shit about. I've heard him use it a thousand times before, but to have it directed at me is goddamn painful. Will I ever get that soft, intimate voice I knew so well ever again?

In an attempt to lighten up this weird conversation, I say, “Yeah, well. We both like to shop and we have a crush on Scott.” 

I guess I succeed, because I hear a quiet chuckle. 

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Alright,” I give in, grinning a little myself. “First of all, I’m going to be nineteen next month, and second, well, I guess you simply can’t resist my beauty, charm and wit.”

Another chuckle. “Sounds more reasonable.”

I laugh now, relieved I’ve avoided a very loaded question, but I owe him *some* truth though. 

“No, seriously. You never told me your side of the story, but we just seem to… fit, somehow.”

He sighs, taking some time to think about it, and then he asks, “Where did we meet?”

I sit back and make myself a little more comfortable. 

“In a bar in Laughlin City. I ran away from home and needed a ride.”

I skip the whole claw-thing. I don’t know if he knows about those. I have to ask the Professor about that one. 

“Then what?”

“Well, we got into an accident, and we met Scott and Ororo. They took us to Xavier’s, because we are both mutants and all, and uh… wait… they told you about my mutation, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, so uh… I stayed at the Mansion and finished high school, and you… you came to check up on me once in a while.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

I can’t hold back a sheepish grin, but I’m thankful he doesn’t see me. “No, but I’m not allowed to give you more details. I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

“I understand,” he says, obviously a little irritated, but trying to hide that from me. 

I don’t think he’s aware of how good I can read him by voice only. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want to sound pissed, because that means he likes me. At least a little. 

When he inquires about the pictures he’s seen, I tell him some random facts everybody at the Mansion already knows. The things we did together, about us playing tricks on Scott, how he helped with my homework, and about stealing the bike or one of the cars to take me out for a movie or burgers. I tell him he tried to teach me how to play pool but I still suck big time, and he still owes me a few lessons on playing poker. 

He listens and sometimes asks a question, but mostly he lets me ramble along, just like the old days. I have a feeling he doesn’t really believe me, and I don’t know whether he thinks he isn’t capable of having fun in general, or the fact he’s had that kind of fun with *me.* After all, I’m just a kid in his opinion. 

When I’m done, he suddenly asks, “What kind of a name is Rogue?”

His question is so unexpected, I’m at a loss for words for a few seconds. I blink stupidly, but then a giggle escapes and I clasp my hand over my mouth. Who would’ve thought history repeats itself?

His growled “What?” makes me answer quickly. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just… you asked me the same question when we first met.”

“Oh.” He’s mulling it over. “So… what did you say?”

“I said, ‘what kind of a name is Wolverine?’”

“Wolverine?”

Crap. They didn’t tell him his nickname. Oh, the hell with it. 

“You were wearing dog tags. They said ‘Wolverine’ and some number.” 

“Do I still have them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Shit shit shit. Alkali Lake. How did we end up at that god-awful place all of a sudden?”

“You lost them.”

“Where?”

Ugh. Was he some kind of interrogator once? Thank God we’re on the phone. He can’t smell my scent now. 

“Just… you know… lost them. Somewhere along the road. Anyway, so then you said your name was Logan and I told you mine - Marie.”

“Marie.” He repeats my name like he’s tasting wine. Or, in Logan’s case, a very good beer. 

“Yeah,” I continue, “I never told the others and you're the only one who calls me that when we’re alone, so uh… you can call me that again if you like.”

“Okay.”

I’m tired. This chat is taking a lot of me, and I wonder what it must be like for him. 

“I know this is all very awkward and all,” I say quietly. “We know so much about you and you don’t remember us, but please, I hope you’ll believe me when I say we all love you, and we all want what’s best for you.”

I don’t expect an answer, and so I’m not surprised when it stays quiet on the other side, but then I hear him muttering, “It must be weird for you too.”

“Yeah, well,” I try to sound careless; “at least you forgot my flaws. Not many people get a chance to make a second first impression. Although, maybe you should forget the beginning of this phone call as well.”

There is that quiet chuckle again. “I will. Can I call you again?”

“Sure. Anytime. Seriously.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s okay. Take care, you hear? And uh… bye.”

“Bye, kid.”

When I break the connection, I stare to the ceiling and I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so I decide to do both. I still managed to make him laugh a little, and I think he knows he can trust me. If his memories of the past year don’t come back at all, well, we might even start this whole friendship anew.

* * *

What time is it? Three a.m.? What moron calls at three a.m.? 

Oh, no. I hope it’s not bad news. “Hello?”

Logan’s voice sounds a little aggravated. “I didn’t give you a lift, you snuck into my trailer.”

I’m suddenly wide awake and grinning. “I didn’t say you gave me a lift. I told you I needed a ride. Why? Do you remember?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great! What else do you know?”

“Just bit and pieces. Couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?”

“It’s okay. I told you to call me anytime.” 

I’m so happy he feels comfortable enough to call me in the middle of the night. That means something, right? 

“I’m sorry,” he says, probably realizing it’s late. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“No. It’s okay. Really. I’m awake now. We can talk some more if you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead. Any more questions?”

“You didn’t have white streaks back then. What happened?”

Right. He sure knows to ask the right ones. 

“Well, do you remember a guy named Magneto?”

“Who?”

“Guess not. Okay. He’s scum. He kidnapped me to strap me down into some machine that would mutate the cells of a few world leaders, so the earth could be ruled by mutants. I know how that sounds, like some crappy science fiction movie, but it’s true. So… uh… well, he gave me his powers to turn on the machine, and in the end it messed up my hairdo for good. The world leaders got away safely though, so I guess it’s a small price to pay.”

Ugh, that sounds so lame. And it’s awfully quiet all of a sudden.

“Logan?”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No! No, it’s true. You can ask the Professor if you want.”

“How did you escape?”

I don’t know whether I can tell him all this. After all, it was traumatic. Well, for me it was.

“I didn’t. I died.”

“You died,” he repeats, warily.

“Yeah. Well, sort of. You once told me I wasn’t breathing and you could hardly sense a heartbeat.”

Now he’s shocked. “I was there?”

“You’re an X-Man. It’s your job to rescue people, so you sort of brought me back to life.”

Again, there is a silence. I wish I could see him. I wonder if he calls me from his room. I picture him sitting on the bed, scowling and running a hand through his hair in frustration. How I wish I could touch him. Comfort him. Snuggle up and make him relax. 

I can hear him shift, and then he speaks again. “What did I do? CPR?”

“No, like I said before, we fit. Not just personality-wise, but our mutations fit, too. Well, in some sort of freakish way, I guess. All I do is hurt you, but you can heal me.”

Hmm, that sounds like he’s some sort of Messiah. Logan in a loin cloth. Been there, done that. I broke my hand as a result. 

“How?”

Huh? Oh. Healing. Right. 

“You touched my skin. We’d done it before when… I accidentally got hurt.”

I can’t tell him about the stabbing-stuff in his room. Talking about trauma. I happen to know he had nightmares about that one.

He snorts. “I have to figure out the details for myself again?”

“I’m sorry, Logan. I really want to tell you more, but--”

“--you have orders.”

“Yeah.”

We both fall silent this time. 

I hate this. I really hate this. I’m going to talk to the Professor first thing in the morning. I don’t want to keep secrets from him anymore. 

He sounds tired and sad when he says, “You should get some sleep. I’m sorry I called.”

“Don’t say that. I wish… I wish I could be there for you. I know you don’t really know me that well, but I miss you. I really miss you.”

Damn tears. I don’t want to cry now. I’ve got to keep them inside. 

“If we’re supposed to be friends, why the hell are you over there?”

He sounds pissed all of a sudden. 

“I went through a hard time and… I wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“Are you running from *me*?” 

I know by the sound of his voice that he’s scared of the answer. He must be remembering more than he’s telling me. 

“No,” I assure him. “I really needed some time alone. I’m not running from you or our friendship. I’m licking my wounds, that’s all.”

“Wounds I caused.”

I don’t know what to say. I really don’t. He’s right, but I can’t tell him that. I shouldn’t.

Despite my good intentions, I hear myself saying, “Some of them, yeah.”

“Shit.” A quiet mumble. 

“Don’t worry, Logan. It’s okay. We’ve been through it all and we’re still the friends we were. Maybe even better. We’re best friends and nothing will change that. It’s you and me. I want you to know that. We care about each other, and no matter what memory comes back, we’re good. Okay?”

“That bad, huh?”

I smile sadly. “We’ve been through some pretty heavy stuff, but we came out good.”

There is some shifting on the other side again. I think he just took a sip of something. A beer? 

“Do you know my name? My real name?”

Huh? Where does that come from?

“I can’t--”

“Marie, just my name.” 

Aww, he’s tired, frustrated and desperate all at once. 

“Okay.” Just his name. If I was in his position I’d like to know my name, too. “It’s James. James Howlett. But everybody calls you Logan.”

“James? What? I’m Chuck’s butler?” 

He bites out the words, but it’s a mental picture I can’t help but laugh at. Logan in a tux, serving tea, asking with a stiff upper lip, ‘Is that all, sir?’ God, that’s hilarious.

Between restrained giggles, I say, “Well, I think the James Dean-version is more like you. You know, the whole rebel without a cause act.”

That earns me a grunted ‘hmpf.’

“Oh, come on, Logan. James is a nice name. The others don’t really know about it though. We just found out. I can’t tell you more. I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Okay.” That sounds simply sad. “You need some sleep.”

“You’re right, but you can call me anytime. You know that, right? We’re friends.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay. ‘Night.”

The click on the other end is my answer, and I know I’ve screwed up. 

Damnit, I have to be there for him. Damn Charles. Why did I listen? This doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right at all.

* * *

He’s gone. 

I guess that was to be expected. The Professor called me this morning and told me Logan has left without giving anyone notice. He sounded kind of disappointed, but anyone who knows Logan should’ve known he doesn’t announce his departure. He simply packs his stuff and leaves. What worries me is that he didn’t borrow a car. He left with just his personal stuff and nothing more. For some reason that makes his exit sort of permanent. 

Of course, the Professor wanted to know what I’ve told him, but I said it was private. He could always track Logan down with Cerebro and ask for himself, but that turned out to be another reason why he was somewhat upset. Logan’s mind is such a tricky place, it’s shielding him from Cerebro. That means he might never be found again if he’s staying off the grid, and knowing Logan, that’s probably his plan.

Still, I hope he’ll come back for me. He just needs time. And space. And solitude. Just like me right now. He’s not the kind of guy who can deal with his problems while there are a dozen nosey people watching over his shoulder. It’s only obvious to run. After all, that’s what I did as well. 

I think he remembers a lot more than he’s told the Professor. Probably the bad things, too, but I hope he knows how much I care about him. I hope it’s enough for him to contact me eventually. This can’t be the end of our friendship. It’s just all sorts of wrong. He can’t just disappear like that. If he won’t call me a week from now, I’m going to pay Tyee and Viv a visit. See if can track him down myself.


	43. Chapter 43

Five days have passed. Five days of waiting and trying to move on. I write a lot in my diary. Memories, thoughts, reflections. It helps to see the big picture again, and I’ve come to the conclusion I’ve been living in the past way too much. It’s time to focus on my future from now on. I have to make myself a little more useful. So far, I’ve been nothing but trouble to the Professor, so I’m thinking about becoming an X-Men for real. I also want to offer the younger kids dance and piano lessons. I don’t have any other useful skills. I guess we’ll have to make do. Still, it really sounds lame. Hey, you baddies! Your asses are about to get kicked by a piano teacher!

Ugh, so much for status. But then again, the Professor asked me what I was good at, and so I told him about my dance and music lessons. Since there isn’t anyone who teaches ‘fun’ stuff, he asked me if I wanted to take the challenge. There is a piano already. It’s about time the instrument would serve its purpose, so who am I to argue with that?

I have to brush up my skills though. I haven’t played in two years. I’ve made a list of the sheet music I need. Also, I’ve been dancing a lot and watched music videos to get up to date with the latest moves. I think most kids would want to learn street dance. Maybe the younger ones would like some basic classic ballet. It’s actually kind of nice to make plans again. 

Another incoming call. I guess that’s Hank to tell me about the skin samples he took before I left. He said he’d call today. 

“What’s the score, big guy?”

“Pretty fucked up.”

I almost swallow my gum and gasp, “Logan!”

“Yeah. You busy?”

“No! No, I thought it was Hank. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“British Columbia.”

I turn off the music and sit down on the end of the bed. “What’s in British Columbia?”

“Ghosts. Listen, where are *you*?”

“Anchorage.”

He actually sounds somewhat cheery when he says, “You finally made it, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “And… I don’t know. Haven’t seen much yet. Are you okay?”

“Good as new.”

Ugh. I don’t want macho-answers. 

“You know what I mean.”

Now he sighs and sounds more like his surly self when he answers, “I’m… a nutcase.”

That makes me smile. “Well, I hear voices in my head. Join the club, sugar.”

After a sort silence, he quietly says, “I’ve missed that.”

“What?”

“That. When you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Oh.”

That’s something good, right? Does he miss *me*? I sure do miss him. I crave touching him again. To smell him. To see him smile. Hell, just to *see* him. Hearing his voice suddenly makes my heart ache. I swallow hard and try to pick up our conversation. 

“So, uh… are you running again?”

“Nah. Needed more space.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“How are *you*?” He sounds worried.

“Good. I’m good.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” And I mean that. I’m really feeling a lot better. I think he’s got all his memories back, otherwise he wouldn’t be this concerned. “Do you… do you remember everything?”

“Is that a trick question?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

Aww. I think I just ruined this conversation. His voice doesn’t show any emotion, so that means he’s hurt. 

“What about the Howlett Estate? You remember that, too?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Hey, got to go. Just checking if you’re still alive.”

Yep. He’s getting rid of me. Crap. 

“I am. Call me, okay? You know, later.”

“Kay.”

He’s gone before I can tell him goodbye. 

Damnit. It’s so much easier if I could see him. I want him to talk about the things he’s found out, but maybe it’s best to wait for a while. 

He’s in British Columbia, chasing ghosts. 

What ghosts? 

Ugh, this isn’t going anywhere. Now I know I can’t sleep tonight. I think I’m going to take some quality pamper-time and soak in the tub for a while. Too bad Logan isn’t here. We’d easily fit in that thing together. First, I’m going to give the Professor a call to tell him Logan’s all right.

* * *

One a.m. and I’m still soaking. The bathroom proves to be a great brooding place. It’s a very serene, white little marble room, and I’ve lit a few candles to get a cozy atmosphere. 

I’ve been thinking about the last phone call. 

How can someone so beautiful end up so damaged? And I don’t mean beautiful as in his looks. I mean his core. His heart. Even though Logan’s done some pretty nasty things, he’s the one who suffers the most from it all. He doesn’t like to kill. He hates the predator inside of him. He’s trying so very hard to keep in control all the time. How can fate give such a demanding mutation to someone as fragile as Logan?

The kid in the pictures seemed like such a gentle little boy. So vulnerable. I can still see that vulnerability sometimes. That withdrawn little guy with the charming smile and those intense, heartbreaking eyes. In a way, Logan’s still that kid. His mutation made sure his body grew strong and powerful, forcing him to be the man he is now, but his heart never changed. It still mourns for the loss of those he loved once. I can’t help feeling bitter about the cruelty of it all. 

The familiar ringtone of my cell breaks my musing. For a brief moment I consider ignoring it, but it’s past midnight, so it’s either Logan or something very important from the Professor. 

Shivering from the cold, I rush out of the tub and sprint to my phone on the bed. 

Before I get a change to say something, I hear Logan asking, “Did I wake you?”

“No, I’m still up.”

“Why?”

I’m dripping on the carpet, so I hastily make my way back to the bathroom. 

“I was thinking. Hang on.”

I step into the water and sink down. Hmm, much better. Let’s do a little refill. 

Logan asks curiously, “What are you doing?”

“I’m in the tub.”

“It’s past midnight.”

“Oh, so you know? What’s this then? My wakeup call?” I ask, smiling. 

“Couldn’t sleep. What were you thinking about?”

“Stuff. About you. Mostly.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good,” I tell him honestly. “It’s always good.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and I’m about to ask him where he is, when he starts, “Marie…”

“What?”

“I miss you.”

My heart suddenly feels very much alive. I think it’s bouncing up and down inside my ribcage, taking away my breath. 

“Really?”

“Only since I remember you, of course.”

I laugh, and I just know he’s smirking.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Blocking all memories of your best buddy.”

“I am.”

“Good,” I tell him, and in a much softer tone, “I miss you too.”

If he was here, I’d hug him. God, how I wish he’d come over. You know what? I’ll ask.

“When are you done chasing ghosts?”

“Why?”

“I was wondering… maybe you can come up here when you’re done.”

“I thought you wanted to be alone.”

“I think I’ve got my sanity back again. After all, I’m on my own for a while now. It’s time to explore the city. I like to do that with you.”

“Where are you exactly?”

I give him the address and fumble with a bottle of bath foam. My heart is all fluttery. Why am I feeling like we’re going on a first date or something? This is Logan. My best friend. My buddy. Nothing to be nervous about. 

There is some shifting on the other end of the line. “Fucking pen,” I hear him mutter under his breath, and it makes me smile.

“How long are you going to be there?” he asks, writing down the name and the address of the hotel. 

“As long as it takes for you to get here, at least. I don’t know. I have to call the Professor. He’s the one who pays for all this. By the way, speaking of paying my stuff, why didn’t you tell me you were the one who’s taking care of me financially?”

He doesn’t sound surprised that I know. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I told you I’d take care of you.”

Awww, now my heart has grown wings. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you’d take it so literarily.”

“It’s just money.”

I don’t really know what to say to that. Somehow it feels like I owe him, but I know he’ll freak when I’ll tell I want to pay him back. Besides, I own jack shit. It’s *really* time to take care of myself. 

He ignores my awkwardness. “I can be there within two days. That okay?”

That soon? Yay!

“Yeah, of course. That’ll be great!”

“Good. Behave, okay?”

I laugh. “Yes, dad.”

“Don’t start the dad-crap again,” he corrects me. “I don’t mind kinky, but lolidom is not my thing.”

I suddenly feel myself blush a very deep shade of red when I bite my lip in shock. What just happened? Are we going from almost-strangers to long-distance flirting in about five minutes tops?

He seems to be waiting, but when I don’t answer, he asks, “You’re still in the tub, right?”

“Yeah,” I squeak barely audible, still trying to get my head around the idea of Logan sort of flirting with me.

“Don’t say those things when I’m trying to ignore I’m talking to a naked woman.”

I start giggling, nervously. “I’m covered in foam.”

“Marie,” he growls playfully, and I laugh, still blushing all the way to my toes.

“I’m sorry. So… uh… what are *you* wearing?”

He sighs dramatically. “I think I’m going to skip this night and start driving.”

“Good thinking, sugar,” I agree, feeling all sorts of excited. “If you hurry, you can join me. I’ll give you a massage.”

“See you in two days, kid.”

“Oh! Don’t you dare calling me ‘kid’ now!” 

He laughs. “’Night, *kid.*”

“Night, sugar.”

Stupidly grinning, I sink back into the tub after making sure my cell is safe. I know my clumsiness. I don’t want to drown my phone. 

Oh, how life suddenly looks wonderful again. 

I know Logan and I still have a lot to discuss, and this was just silly banter, but still, it’s clear we’re good again. He’ll be here in two days. I think it’s time for a haircut and some new clothes. 

Yup, the rollercoaster is definitely going up.

* * *

The next day I’m all giddy and nervous. I get a haircut and I shop for some new clothes and shoes. Thirteen weeks of misery does have an advantage it seems. I didn’t spend a penny of my monthly allowance. 

Most of the things I buy are casual, but I can’t resist a pair of beautiful high heels, so that means I’m a girl on a mission. I just *have* to buy the perfect dress and matching accessories. 

I don’t expect to wear those things when Logan’s around. He’s not the kinda guy who takes me out to places I can wear something like that, but still, a girl can dream. I’m perfectly content with walking around in jeans and my docs most of the time, but I *am* a girl. Maybe I can convince him to have dinner in some fancy restaurant. Just once. 

Walking around the streets with a load of bags, I wonder why all these people are smiling at me. For a moment I think there must be something weird with my hair, or maybe I have a smudge on my face, but when I look at my reflection in the window of a bakery-store, I see a huge grin on my face. People are only smiling back at me. 

Logan’s on his way, and the thought makes me feel like I’m floating a mile above the streets. I suppress the urge to sing out loud, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way. Is this what it feels like when you’re in love? When you’re experiencing a simple, uncomplicated love? So far, I never really had the time to feel like this. I was always worrying about stuff. About my mutation, my life, my homework. These three weeks of solitude sure did me some good. I feel absolutely happy for the first time in almost two years. What a wonderful feeling. 

I know my optimism might be completely misplaced. I have no clue where Logan and I stand right now. I don’t know what will happen once he’s here, or why he’s coming over in the first place. We still have a lot of talking to do, but I’m determined to make him understand I really want us to be more than friends. I hope he feels the same way, and if he needs some time, I can wait. I just need some assurance he loves me like I love him. Until then, I can’t help but indulge in this happiness. At least just for a day.

* * *

Phew, shopping can be quite exhausting. After a refreshing shower I’ve changed into my favorite pair or sweatpants, one of Logan’s flannel shirts and my Tigger slippers. I removed all labels from my new clothes and tried them on, mentally making notes what looks good with what. I have to remember to buy another suitcase as well. 

Looking around, I nod contently. I don’t expect Logan until tomorrow afternoon, but everything looks fine. I’ve cleaned up my mess, and all I can do now is wait. I’ve ordered some warm apple-pie, and somewhat guiltily I eye my curving tummy. I didn’t do much exercising and I ate a lot. Okay, so I was skinny after Alkali Lake, but now my tummy is a bit round, my breasts are full, and I got my ass back again. My hips aren’t bony anymore, and I wonder if Logan is going to like it. 

Oh well, let’s not make a fuss about this. I feel good, and let’s just keep it at that.

Room service is knocking on my door, and I grin by the thought of that pie. I’ve ordered extra whipped cream too. 

When I open the door, I expect to see one of the waiters, but instead, Logan is standing tall and handsome in my doorway. I stare at him in shock, but then I launch myself in his arms.

“You’re early!” I cry out in happy surprise, and he’s just in time to catch me, stumbling a few paces backwards. 

“Whoa. Yeah, skipped a night.”

I hold on for dear life and nuzzle his neck. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Tightening his grip, he takes my clinging as an invitation to enter my room. He kicks the door closed with one of his boots and leans against it while I slide down his body to land on my feet again. His buckle hooks under my shirt and I feel it riding up a little, the metal against my belly. I’m all shaky and I’m grinning like an idiot when I pull free. 

“You must be tired,” I say. “Where are your bags? How did you get here? Are you okay? Hungy? I’ve ordered apple pie.”

I almost trip over sentences, but he simply smiles and looks around, rolling his broad shoulders a little. 

“Chuck’s taking good care of you. Yeah, I’m tired. My bags are in my room two floors down. I bought a truck in New York, and I’m fine. Apple pie sounds good.”

I laugh at my own silliness as I gaze at him in awe. 

He’s staring back at me, his head tilted a little to the side. A lopsided grin appears on his handsome face when he says, “You look good.”

I blush and shift my weight to my other foot while I fumble with a slip of his shirt. I wanted to look good when he arrived, and now he’s caught me in my shabbiest sweatpants, his old flannel and those slippers again. Not to mention I’m not wearing any make up and my hair is still wet. 

“Thanks. I didn’t expect you this soon.” 

I’m suddenly shy and feeling a little overwhelmed by his presence, but before I can blurt out anything stupid, I’m saved by another knock on the door.

“Oh, the pie!’

Logan walks into the room and I rush around him and welcome Manuel. The Spanish waiter eyes Logan suspiciously, but my best friend ignores him, shrugging off his jacket and disappearing into the bathroom. He leaves the door open. 

“Here you go, Miss Logan, is there anything else?” Manual asks politely, rolling in the trolley with the goodies I ordered. 

Maybe Logan wants to have a beer or something else to eat.

“Logan? You want something other than pie and tea?”

Pulling down his sleeves and drying his hands on his jeans, he walks back into my room. “Kitchen still open?”

“Yeah, you can order anything you want.”

I hand him the menu and he looks at it for a moment before ordering an entire meal. 

Guess he didn’t eat much today. 

Manuel takes notes with a perfectly blank face. “Very well, sir.” He bows gracefully and beams me a small smile. “Miss.”

I smile back and wait for him to leave before I turn to face Logan again. He watches me with a thoughtful expression.

“What?”

He sits down on the bed. “Nothing. How about sharing that pie?”

I roll the trolley in front of him and sit down too. “It’s good, you know. You should try the brownies, too.” I slice the pie in two. “Whipped cream?”

“Sure.”

My hands tremble and I think he sees. 

He snakes an arm around me, placing a hand on the small of my back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, glancing up for a moment to look into those beautiful eyes. “Just… I’m glad you’re here, you know? Remembering me and all.”

He doesn’t answer, but his warm hand rubs a little. I can feel the heat through the flannel. 

Pulling myself together, I smile. “Which piece do you want? Left or right?”

“Your choice.”

“You know what? You can have it all if you promise me to let me have a bite.”

“Deal.”

I shove both pieces his way and he lets go of my back to attack the dessert, making me giggle. 

“My my, you really are hungry.”

“Yeah, didn’t stop for food or anything. Here.”

He holds up the fork with a big chunk of pie and I bend over to let him feed me. 

“Hmmm,” I moan, letting the sensation of the taste overwhelm me. “This is the best pie I’ve ever tasted. We’ve *got* the get the recipe before we leave.”

He watches me in amusement. “You’re going to make me some when we’re back home?”

I’ve never heard him referring to the Mansion as home. It really surprises me. 

Swallowing down my bite with some tea, I nod. “Sure. I’m from the South, remember? I used to make lots of pies and cookies with my mother.”

His face turns serious all of the sudden. “Do you miss her?”

We’ve never really talked about my family. I never wanted to. I’m somewhat over the rejection and the hurt now though. “Sometimes.”

“Maybe you should drop by some day.”

I wonder what makes him say that. Maybe because he found out his parents are dead.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “I don't belong there anymore.”

“You don’t have to stay with them. You can just tell them you’re okay and make sure they’re okay too.”

I curiously watch him. “Why?”

He smiles sadly and looks away. “They’re your family.”

“No, not anymore. I have a new family now. A family that loves me for who I am instead of trying to make me feel guilty, or dirty, or like there's something wrong with me.”

He doesn’t say anything. 

I suddenly feel a little melancholic. 

I rest my head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around my waist again. I put my hand on his thigh and simply enjoy his closeness. 

“I’ve *really* missed you,” I mumble, feeling so safe with his arm around me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You want to stay here tonight? The bed is big enough.”

“No. Too many nightmares.”

That makes me so damn sad. “I’m sorry.”

Rubbing my back, he says, “Don’t be. Chuck says it’s part of the healing process. There's so much to cope with. I can’t handle it at once.”

I look up. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

A faint smile and caring eyes. “Yeah, but not tonight. I’m tired.”

Manuel picks that moment to knock on the door again, and I jump up to open it. The trolley with all sorts of delicious food comes rolling in, and I lick my lips. 

“I’ve shared my pie. How about you share your dinner?”

“Go ahead.”

The nice Spanish waiter leaves after showing me another one of those charming smiles, and we attack the trolley like a pack of hungry wolves. Between bites we talk about nothing in particular. It’s clear we’re not in the mood for heavy conversations. It's nice though. It’s relaxed. 

After we’re done, Logan stands up and gives me a key-card. “Room 618.”

I take it and tease, “Is that an invitation?”

“Emergency only. I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, trying to maintain a stern face, but his eyes are glowing in amusement.

“So… that’s a ‘no’.”

“Yeah.” He grins, shaking his head. “I think I should go.” 

“Okay. I’m going to bed early as well. Oh, wait a minute.”

I walk over to my purse and get my own key-card. 

“Here. If you feel lonely downstairs, you’re welcome to stay here. And no, that’s not an indecent proposal.”

He takes my card and when he thanks me, I give him a bear hug which he returns with an eagerness I didn’t expect. He holds me close for several seconds, and when I finally look up, he brushes a lock of hair out of my face and gently kisses my forehead. Opening the door behind him, he says in a soft, deep voice, “Night, darlin’.”

My stomach instantly goes ‘kathunk’ again.

Now I really don’t want him to go, but I put on a brave face and watch him leave. “Night. See you tomorrow.”


	44. Chapter 44

I can’t sleep. 

It doesn’t surprise me, but still, it’s annoying to be staring at the ceiling hour after hour. I wonder if Logan’s awake, too. His jacket is hanging over one of the chairs. In a way I feel comforted by the thought there is still a part of him in my room, but damnit, I want *him* to be here. 

I wipe my hair out of my face and sigh. It’s almost three in the morning. I *really* should try to get some sleep. 

Okay. 

Sleep. 

Right.

Emergencies only, he’d said. Not being able to sleep isn’t an emergency, is it?

Ugh. I’m too restless. Maybe I should check up on him. Just to make sure he’s okay. I’ll just peek behind his door and when he’s asleep, I’ll leave again. Yeah. Excellent plan. 

I track down my slippers and put on a robe. Just when I’m about to leave my room, I realize I don’t have my key-card to get back in. Oh well. That means I have to stop by the night clerk and get myself another one. Whatever. 

The door closes behind me and I take the elevator downstairs. I feel a little silly with my slippers in the hallway, but thank God there is no one to be seen. After all, who wants to be up at this ungodly hour?

Room 618. That’s this one. Let’s eavesdrop to make sure he’s not having a nightmare. At this point, I don’t think either of us is going to survive an accident like that. 

Nope. No sound at all. Okay. Here I go.

Oh. His bed is empty. Where did he go?

“Logan?”

“In here.”

That comes from the bathroom and it doesn’t sound good. His voice is too weak. 

I turn on the light and hurry to the bathroom, only to find him sitting on his knees, wearing sweatpants only, bend over the toilet bowl with his forehead resting on his arm. 

“Oh, my God. Are you okay?” I ask in panic, falling to my knees next to him. 

“No, but… gimme a minute.”

He threw up. He’s sweaty but his skin feels cold, and I don’t know what to do first. Get him a shirt? A drink? Stay with him and rub his back? What? Shit, is he sick or something?

He shivers and I take off my robe, putting it over him. Then, with trembling hands, I fill a glass with water and he reaches out for it without looking my way. “Thanks.”

Slowly taking a few sips, he closes his eyes tiredly. I wait until he starts talking, trying to hide my impatience. I don’t want to push him or anything, but I really want to know what’s going on. He can’t be sick. He heals from anything. Unless… unless he doesn’t sleep again.

“Nightmare,” he finally says, reaching blindly for the handle of the toilet to flush. 

I sit down on the tiled floor. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts to lean against the wall.

I try not to sound annoyed when I say, “It’ll help you.”

“So they say.”

He puts down the glass and pensively stares at me. After a short silence he says, “They strangled me with my guts.”

It takes me a second to comprehend his words, and when I do, I don’t have a clue what to say. A full body shiver runs through me when I think of the horror. 

“Stryker?”

“Yeah.”

Scooting a little closer, I put my hand on his knee. 

His watchful eyes follow my movement. “What’re you doin’ here? I said emergency only.”

“It felt like one,” I answer, shrugging a little awkwardly, and I withdraw my hand. 

“It was just a nightmare. I have them all the time,” he says, running a hand through his spiky hair. “Some scare me, some piss me off, and some make me sick, like this one. I don’t think I can sleep more than an hour between them. I’ve tried to stay awake, but I found out they haunt me during daytimes just the same.”

I’m glad he’s honest, but my heart clenches. 

“Oh, Logan,” I whisper worriedly, “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know.”

“Let me stay here tonight. I’ll sleep on the couch. Or… I’ll stay awake. I’ll watch over you.”

He tries to assure me with a faint smile. “You need your sleep more than I do.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.”

Another contemplative look, but he doesn’t answer. 

Did I just win another argument?

“Come on, let’s go back to bed.” I stand up and hope he’ll follow me, but instead of walking back into his room, he grabs a towel. 

“Go ahead. I’m gonna to take a shower first”

Knowing what it feels like to wake up from nightmares like the one he had just now, I totally understand his need to wash away the artificial dirty hands that have touched him in his dream. I give him some privacy and walk over to his bed to sit down, shivering from the cold. My robe is still in the bathroom. 

The water starts running and I listen to the shower door opening and closing. 

I want to join him. 

I really want to. 

You know what? What the hell. We’ve laughed together, we’ve cried together, we’ve even slept together. Taking a shower together isn’t that big of a deal. Also, so far, every time I start thinking about what’s right and wrong I screw up. When I just follow my instincts I’m usually right. Right now, my instinct is telling me he needs me. 

I undress while I walk back to the bathroom, and when I open the shower door, he’s leaning with both hands against the far wall, water flowing down his back, his head hanging tiredly. 

“Marie, don’t do this.”

I’m not exactly sure what he means, but I’m not known for my obedience so I ignore his order. Besides, his voice lacked that rough edge it usually holds when he means it. He simply sounds tired and hurt – his aura of energy, his strength, it’s completely gone. 

“I’m not going to let you wallow all by your lonesome,” I mumble, raising my face to the shower nozzle to welcome the warm water. 

My hands long to massage his tense shoulders, to slide over his bare back, and carefully, I touch his skin, praying he doesn’t draw away.

He doesn’t. 

Just a barely perceptible flinch, but he lets me gently grab the hard muscles in the curve of his shoulder and his neck, and I start kneading, using my thumbs and the tips of my fingers only. 

Making my way down to his upper back, he moans, and by the time I work downwards to his mid-back, his body is relaxing visibly. 

My ballet teacher taught her students how to give each other a massage. As a dancer, I know what it is to feel the pain ease away by skilled hands. I just hope I still have the talent. 

Pushing upward from the center of his spine to his sides, I arrive at his lower back, just above that wonderful butt of his. I wonder if I should ask for permission to continue, but he seems so passive, I let my hand trail over his behind just briefly before squatting down. 

I massage the back of his upper legs and he doesn’t move. He just stands there. Drops of water sliding down his flawless skin while I move lower and knead his calves thoroughly. 

I don’t think he’ll let me massage his front, and I’m not sure if I’m up to it, so I stand up again and put my arms around his waist, encircling his chest while I press myself against his back. I caress his stomach, following a trail of soft hair downwards, and he doesn’t stop me when my fingers gradually roam lower. 

“It’s about you this time,” I whisper, carefully avoiding that part of him I’m not sure he wants me to touch. “Tell me what you need.” His muscles ripple under my hands as I make my way up again over his sides, his abs. “Show me.”

Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, his left hand closes over mine, guiding me lower, curling my fingers around him. It’s a familiar pose because I’ve touched him so many times like this in our cell, but this time my gloves are off and he’s half erect. The moment his fist closes over mine, he hardens more.

I kiss his back, putting my other hand over his heart. “It’s okay.” 

This isn’t the time to explore his body or to go slow. He wants release, no blushing girl and awkwardness. “Teach me.”

All this time he doesn’t say anything. The large hand covering mine slowly starts moving. I concentrate on the rhythm, the pressure, the length of the slow strokes. I’m right-handed, so it feels a bit clumsy with my left, but with every movement he’s getting harder and the thickness seems to increase. I must be doing something right. 

My own arousal is obvious by the time he starts moving his hips, slowly thrusting into my fist to intensify the contact. The wetness between my thighs isn’t from the shower only, and I wonder if he’s aware that touching him like this excites me as well. 

The grip on my hand tightens, pumping in a new rhythm, and the tension in his body and his jagged breath tells me he’s getting close. 

“Come on, Logan,” I whisper, caressing his stomach, his hipbone, his thigh with my other hand. “Let go.”

His hips buck and his hand is clutched over mine in an iron grip. The moment I bite the wet skin of his shoulder, he throws his head backwards as his body freezes for just a moment. Then he starts to spasm uncontrollably, and I hold him close as he comes, gasping and quivering, barely able to stand up straight. 

Struggling for breath, he releases my hand, but I don’t let go just yet. I gently keep my fingers curled about him near the base, and I rest my head between his shoulder blades, my free arm wrapped around his waist. I want him to know I’m okay with all of this. That I *understand* his need. I’m so thankful he trusts me enough to be this vulnerable. 

“I’m so sick of this life. Sick of myself,” he chokes out bitterly, his hoarse voice laced with resentment. 

“Too bad, sugar, because I just can’t get enough of you,” I tell him, tenderly kissing his back and slowly releasing my grip to use both my hands to caress his body. 

He inhales deeply and releases the air slow and evenly. Then he turns around, leaning against the shower wall, eyes fixed on the ground. “I know what you feel. I still have a hard time believing it.”

I take a step closer and lean in against him. “Why? How do you know?”

He pulls me close, and suddenly I’m having a little trouble concentrating on this conversation. I’ve never felt our bodies touch like this, both standing up and wet and naked. I got something pressed against my belly, and it feels exiting and completely normal at the same time. How’s that possible?

Logan doesn’t seem to be affected by this new position. “You made me feel, remember? Through Faye.”

Oh! Of course! Looking up, I ask, “It worked?

His eyes finally meet mine, showing me a mixture of guilt and concern. “Yeah. I thought it was a dream at first, but then Faye told me what she’d done. It felt so… good. Honest.”

“It is.”

He sighs and hides his face in my neck. “I’m sorry.”

Resting my head against his chest, I ask, “For what?”

“For what I am. For making you do this.”

Oh, this man is killing me. I love him so much I think I’m about to burst. It hurts me so much he’s feeling this way.

“You don’t make me do anything. I want this.”

He doesn’t answer, and I don’t know what to do to convince him otherwise. He’s in my arms, needing comfort, so I have to say something. Anything. 

“I really want this,” I tell him again. “And I want *you*. Right here, right now. You know I do.”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. 

Lifting me up and pushing a thigh between my legs, I know what’s going to happen. The water makes our bodies slippery, but he turns us around and pins me to the wall with his chest. I try to climb higher, wrapping my legs around his waist, feeling him pressed against me. 

It all happens so fast, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a feverish excitement and a little bit of nervousness. How’s this going to work? Am I not too heavy? I don’t have anything to hold on to. He has to carry my weight all by himself. 

When he enters my body with a hard thrust, all thoughts vanish and I moan how much I love him. We don’t kiss, and he’s almost smothering me, ravishing my body without any trace of affection. I don’t mind though. This has nothing to do with love, not even with lust. It’s an act of despair, a quest for comfort, and I can give him this. I *want* to give him this. Release first, we’ll talk later. This just feels right. 

I feel his hands tremble as he’s holding me up. His breath is hot and erratic against my shoulder. I whimper and clutch onto him, hoping to offer him what he longs for. Hoping he can sense my love next to the heavy scent of our arousal. 

A part of me tells me he’s beyond reason and I should be scared out of my mind, but really, I’m not. I relish the hard, relentless pounding, surrendering to his strength, and urging him on with words I don’t think I could’ve said if I wasn’t this delirious. I love giving him this. We’re one, both captured in desperate passion, both craving acceptance and peace. We *both* need this.

Knowing he’s building towards an orgasm, I don’t know what to do to make it better. All I can do it hold on. 

“Please, Logan. Please--” 

I can’t finish my plea because he’s coming, hard. I feel him throbbing and exploding deep inside of me, groaning in my neck and crushing me against his chest. My body’s so close to release, but I try to stay still and give him what he needs. 

When he’s finally spend, his knees actually give up on him. We both slide down in a heap of entwined limps against the wall. The friction of our bodies push me over the edge, and I feel my inner muscles clench around him as I cry out and scratch my nails over his shoulders. 

Oh, God. 

Oh. My. God. 

That was… unexpected. 

I’m lying floppily on Logan’s heaving chest, the warm water caressing our heated skin. I’m sure I’m going to be sore tomorrow, but I couldn’t care less. Good Lord, that was really something. 

“Logan?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. “You alright?”

He’s still panting as well. “Yeah. You?” 

“I think… I’m beyond okay.”

He kicks the shower door open to stretch his long legs, and the sudden rush of cold makes me shiver. Wrapping his arms around me even more tightly, he mutters, “Jesus Christ. This wasn’t the plan.”

“There was a plan?” I ask, half amused and half curious. 

Instead of giving me an answer, he says, “I can never live up to your expectations.”

Finding the strength to look up, I see he’s not hiding behind indifference. The hurt is clearly visible in those intense eyes of his. I’m glad I’ve done some serious thinking these past few weeks. Now I have a good answer. 

“I know,” I tell him, matter-of-factly. “My expectations weren’t realistic.”

He eyes me skeptically, obviously trying to figure out what I mean. 

“It’s not fair, you know,” I tell him, sitting up straight and feeling a little awkward to actually have this conversation while we’re still joined together. “We get all sorts of romantic crap in our heads from watching TV and reading books. It’s always about the catch. You know, the hero and heroin - they go around in circles for… like… forever, and at the end of the hour and a half, or three hundred fifty pages, they finally say they love each other and that’s it. Then the happily ever after starts. But then what?”

I watch him expectantly, and he seems to be amused by my rant. “Don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. Those two people weren’t perfect before they became a couple, and they sure don’t turn into perfect lovers after exchanging those words. They’ll probably fight, and then they’ll try to make up. They have to struggle though rough times, and who says they’ll make it anyway? Why does every romantic movie stop, when, in fact, real life begins? Isn’t that the most important part of it all?”

He seems to genuinely think about it with still that faint, amused smile on his lips. “I guess so.”

I nod. “Exactly. So it’s the fault of those writers we get all silly ideas of a perfect love. There is no such thing. Even the most passionate people in the world will end up in the daily grind eventually. They have to fight for their relationship, but we never witness that struggle. If we did, then we wouldn’t be having all these unrealistic expectations.”

I take a deep breath and I’m glad I got it all out, even though I got carried away a little. 

Logan shifts, trying to get more comfortable in this tiny shower. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get rid of me. Should I get up myself? I mean, he’s still inside of me. Not as hard as he was before, but hard enough to be aware. I never expected to give this speech while I’m sort of stuck on him. And that reminds me…

“You know what pisses me off even more?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Sex on TV. Whether it’s love or plain lust, you never see them making a mess. You know, body fluids and stuff. No wet stains, no uncomfortable leaking when they get up, no nothing. Why is that?”

He chuckles. “Beats me.”

Hey, he uses a muscle down there when he does that. Funny. I could feel him twitch inside of me. 

Damnit. I have to concentrate on this talk, not on the fact he’s noticed it too and is suddenly getting harder again. 

“It’s one big fake universe,” I tell him. “No wonder all these relationships fail. We expect the impossible. It’s bound to happen that all we get is disappointment.”

There. That’s off my chest. I’m kind of pissed now. No, make that combative. I’m determent to make Logan see I’m not expecting something girlish. I want him to know I’m ready for the real thing. 

He stares at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “You sound bitter.” 

“I grew up,” I answer defiantly, sticking my chin in the air. 

He looks away. “Yeah. Too soon. That’s partly my fault.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it was about time to get rid of those silly fantasies. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in love, I just don’t expect things to be perfect anymore.”

And I’ll be damned if that’s not the truth, impaled on the love of my life or not. 

He watches me strangely, sort of… curiously. “What *do* you expect?”

Yeah. That’s a tough one. 

“Maybe we should get up and continue this conversation in bed?” I venture out loud, squirming to find a little more comfortable position. “I think my legs are going numb.”

Not to mention I’m getting really distracted by the way his eyes occasionally dart to my breasts. 

“Good point.”

He puts his hands on my hips and helps me to get up. It’s a pretty interesting sight to be lifted up from him and – whoa… *that* was inside of me? I feel a little giddy all of a sudden. 

And I also realize I just had really hot shower sex with Logan. 

Shower sex.

With Logan. 

Woohoo!

I’m so glad he isn’t a mind reader. He doesn’t pay attention to me at all, standing up and stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. He takes up pretty much all available space while I’m trying to clean up and stare at his erection without being all too obvious. 

After how many times will he finally be satisfied?

“Did I hurt you?” He suddenly asks, those beautiful hazel eyes filled with concern. 

I cast him a shy smile. “Nah. Don’t worry. I’m not that fragile."

“Damnit.” He reaches out for me. “I’m sorry. I--”

“No,” I tell him, more harshly than I intended and taking a step back. “I don’t want to hear any more apologies. Give a girl some privacy and get your gorgeous butt to bed. I’ll join you in about ten minutes, and then we’ll continue this talk. Okay?”

He looks at me with an odd mixture of mirth and sincerity. “I love you. You know that, right?”

For a moment I’m speechless - he never told me this flat out, but then a huge grin appears on my face, and I answer smugly, “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Now, beat it, mister.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Smiling, he leaves the shower, and I can’t resist giving his muscled butt a light tap. 

Oh, boy. I don’t think this is going to get any better. And right before The Talk. Ugh. It’s all or nothing now, and I don’t want to screw this up. I *have* to make sure I tell him that I love him for who he is. My body’s still tingling, and my hair is a tangled mess, but what the hell. I feel good. I can do this. 

I hastily wash up and several minutes later, I slip under the covers after flipping the light switch. It’s easier to talk in the dark. Scooting closer, I snuggle up in his arms, wearing one of his T-shirts only. He’s wearing sweat pants, and I’m actually thankful for that. His naked body is very distracting when it’s plastered against mine. I’m probably being silly, but I’m just not used to it yet. 

I take a minute to collect myself and make sure I’m calm.

“Okay. So what do I expect,” I repeat his earlier question. “To be honest, I don’t think it’s fair to expect anything. According to Hank my mutation will be back within a year.”

That’s true. I know my touch ability won’t last. In what ever form Logan and I are going to continue our relationship, I want him to know I’ll be untouchable soon. It’s only fair to mention it. 

“So?”

“So… I can’t stand the idea of a possible boyfriend cheating on me.”

With a calm, deep voice, he says, “I’m not talking about a possible boyfriend. I’m talking about me. You and me.”

Oh, Lord. My eyes are adjusted to the dark and he looks… patient. Serious, thoughtful and awaiting. My throat suddenly feels dry, and I have to swallow twice before I can speak up again. 

“I know you care about me. I know you care a lot. You love me, but I don’t know if it’s enough, and I can’t expect you to be faithful. No matter how much I love you, I can’t pretend I’m okay with sharing you with other women.”

I’ve given this a lot of thought. He’s a very physical guy. I’m not even sure I can satisfy his needs when I’m touchable, let alone when I’m back to my poisonous self again. I honestly can’t bear the thought of him sleeping with other women when we’re supposed to be together. I’d rather let him go. 

Instead of taking away my uncertainties, he kisses my hair and sighs. “I thought you knew me.”

“I do,” I tell him. “Logan, I’m going to be untouchable within a year. I can’t expect--”

Now he’s the one who interferes. “Your skin never bothered me. I hate not being able to heal you now if something happens. We can work around it, I’m sure. There are condoms, gloves, bodysuits…”

Aww, that’s so sweet. And a bit kinky, but hey… my skin is kinky too. This is all very serious. No romantic declarations of love, no passionate whispers of lust. This is an honest, serious talk. It fits us, I think. Well, it fits Logan. Maybe I should cross that bridge when I come to it. After all, we still might have a whole year.

I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and I actually sniffle a bit. I don’t know what to say other then a whispered, “Thanks.”

Ignoring my stupid emotional whimper, he says, “Marie, before we decide anything, I want you to know some things about me. About my past.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not… the things I’ve done. Maybe I don’t deserve this.”

“Please, don’t say that.” I caress his hair “I know lots of things about you. Bad things, and I’ve *never* stopped loving you. Not even… you know… never.” I’m really trying to be strong. “I love you. I always did. No matter what.”

Hugging me tightly, he whispers, “I should’ve waited until you were older.”

“No. This is right. This is us.”

“Yeah.”

Okay. Wait a minute. Are we together now? Is he… are we… am I--

“You actually want to be my boyfriend?” I ask, still lost in questions, but - ugh. That came out so stupid.

He thinks it’s funny though. His muffled chuckle tells me so. “Yeah.”

Drawing back, I want to see his eyes. “You sure? For keeps?”

This isn’t the mask Logan usually hides behind. This is James Howlett. The little boy from the painting. Vulnerable with a charming smile. 

“Yeah.”

As much as I want to squeal in joy, I have to get rid of my own fears first. 

“What about Jean? Or Rose?”

His face grimaces. “I never loved Jeannie. She triggered suppressed memories about Rose. And Rose… I think I did the same with Rose as you with me. She was almost holy in my teenage imagination.”

“Wow. You really did some thinking,” I tell him, impressed about his own analysis. “What happened with the two of you?”

“We ended up in British Columbia. She took care of me, and in time, after I grew up, I took care of her. I was naïve and thought we could live our platonic lives forever, but she fell in love with someone else. A good guy. They wanted to marry.”

“And?”

His eyes darken, showing me a sad apprehension that makes me unconsciously brace myself. 

“I killed her.”

What? No!

“Why? How?” I stammer, hoping he didn’t feel that shiver down my spine.

“It was an accident. Got into a fight. She jumped in between, but my claws… they’re a part of my mutation. They were bone back then, but still lethal.”

For a few moments we stare at each other. I know he’s scanning me. I try to understand this piece of information, realizing how close to a repetition of the past we came the night he stabbed *me*. Such a cruel déjà vu. 

There is so much to ask, but this is not the time. I love him. That’s all that matters. 

I reach out to caress his face, and I’m glad he leans into my gesture of comfort. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I know what she meant to you.”

Watching me with an accepted despair, he says quietly, “It’s what I do. What I am. A killer.”

“No. You’re the man I love.”

He sadly smiles at the way I say those words with a stubborn determination. “Is it enough?”

Sighing, I crawl back in his arms. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to give it a try. You and me. Together.”

He presses me close to his chest and hides his face in my hair. “God, darlin’, I’m so fucked up I can hardly think straight.”

“Same here, but I always feel better when you’re around.”

Releasing a shaky breath, he keeps me locked in his arms. “Yeah. With you I’m… less incomplete.”

And that’s just about the best declaration of love he can give me. 

I nuzzle his neck and close my eyes, feeling a little overwhelmed about all this. 

“Then I guess… it’s you and me from now on.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd feel that sad after saying goodbye to fictional characters. 
> 
> It took me a year to write this story. I've spend all my time typing and brooding and looking up stuff in dictionaries and on the internet. I think my English has improved over this last year and I'm proud of it. I hope I can hold on and learn a lot more. 
> 
> There are lots of people I have to thank now. I don't think I could've made it every Friday if they weren't helping me out. First, my husband. I’ve got a fulltime job, and 45 weeks of trying to update on Friday isn't doing your marriage any good, I can tell you that. Still, we managed to get through it without any real fights, mostly thanks to his patience. Love my guy. 
> 
> Thanks to all those wonderful people leaving me feedback. I've counted the emails in my feedback folder for this story a few chapters back, and I had about 700. Some people drop a note after every chapter, some review a few chapters at the time, and I’ve enjoyed the feedback probably as much as you seem to enjoy this story. I know I didn't respond to all of it (I had a fic to write!), but I've read them all. Thank you all so very much, and in some cases, thank you for your trust and share something so personal. 
> 
> I worked with quite a lot of beta's: tinhutlady, xbedhead, devildoll and vee_mon. Thanks all. You’ve taught me so much. 
> 
> Anna, JJ and Valeria were people who kept encouraging me and held a mirror when I was sorta stuck. Valeria always had good timing to IM me during some of the most intense parts and screw up my concentration, but she made me laugh a lot, so she's forgiven. Thanks, girls. 
> 
> So I guess this is it. *sniffles* I've started a few new fics already. One is going to be just as huge as this one. Be prepared. The title is ‘Yellow Brick Road’.
> 
> It's been a hell of a ride, but I sure had a good time. I hope the same goes for you out there. Thanks for staying with me all these weeks, and I hope you'll enjoy this last chapter as well.

Hmmm. What’s that smell? It’s delicious. Smells like… brownies?

I turn around in bed and open one eye, only to see twinkling hazel eyes staring back at me. 

Logan. 

My boyfriend Logan. 

I fell asleep in his arms last night. I don’t think he’s had any nightmares, but maybe he didn’t sleep at all after our talk. God knows I was too exhausted from all those emotions to stay awake. 

“Am I dreaming or are you for real?” I mumble, smiling, and ducking deeper under the covers. 

His voice is soft and I can hear a smile when he says, “I’m real. Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

What’s this all about? I do what I’m told, because, frankly, I’m too sleepy to ask any more questions. The sweet smell comes closer, and then I taste chocolate cake and the tip of Logan’s finger. 

Wow. What a way to wake up.

“This has got to be a dream,” I say, chewing with my eyes closed. “A half naked, handsome man feeding me brownies can’t be real. What did I do to deserve this?”

“You snuck into my trailer,” he answers, feeding me another piece. 

Aww. He’s such a big sweetie. 

“Best decision I’ve ever made. But let’s not make this a habit. I’m getting fat.”

“No, you’re not.”

Now I open one eye again. “You haven’t seen my tummy yet.”

He grins mischievously. “I think I got a pretty good view yesterday.”

I blush. “You weren’t watching my tummy, sugar.”

His eyebrow arches and his mouth is quirked into a boyish smirk. “Well, among other things.”

“Right.” I giggle, scooting a little closer to his side. “Be a nice boyfriend, will you? Hush up and be my pillow.”

He laughs. “Be your pillow? Damnit. I’ve turned into Scooter.”

It’s so good to hear him laugh. I love that sound. 

Cuddling up in his arms, I smirl. “No, you’re not. You’re still a badass. You just happen to make a damn fine pillowy badass.”

My head rests on his shoulder and my hand is on his bare chest. I still love to feel the steady pounding of his heart under my palm. Hell, I love everything about him. I’m such a girl. All lovey dovey. 

Hmm. I think I’m awake now. I don’t feel like getting up though. The closeness of his body, his warmth; it’s a little too tempting to ignore all that fine-looking skin. He’s mine now. 

Mine. 

Oh, boy. Now I’m *really* awake. 

Playing with his chest hair, I think about the things that happened yesterday. My muscles are a bit stiff and I got that slight burning feeling between my legs again. I don’t want Logan to know because I’m sure he feels guilty, but I’m feeling sort of smug about it. Our second time, and it was in the shower. Well, third time if you count Alkali Lake, but for some reason that seems so unreal now. So much has happened since. Who would’ve thought we’d end up here?

Anna Marie Logan. Hmm. Marie Howlett? Anna Marie Howlett. Logan and Marie Howlett. Or uh… James and Marie Howlett? James and Marie Logan?

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve got a weird question.”

“Shoot.”

“What should I call you?”

“I like ‘sugar’.”

I giggle. “No, stupid. I mean, now that you know your real name. Shouldn’t I be calling you James? Or uh… Jimmy?”

He growls. “Jimmy?”

Snickering, I say, “Guess we better stick to ‘Logan’, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“But aren’t you glad that you know now?”

He curls a lock of hair around his finger. “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

“And?”

“Still thinking about it.”

Trailing my fingers over his chest, I ask, “Are you going to use your real last name?”

“Maybe. Why?”

I turn around so I can look at him. “Just… wondering.”

The cocked eyebrow shows that he doesn’t believe me. 

I grin sheepishly. “It’s nothing. Hey, how do you shield yourself from the professor?”

Now he frowns. “I don’t.”

“He told me he couldn’t reach you with Cerebro. It would’ve been a nifty trick to learn.” 

“As soon as I know, I’ll teach you.”

Nuzzling his shoulder, I smile. “Cool.”

He holds me close, and I feel myself drift away again when he says, “Marie, there is something we need to talk about.”

Oh, crap. I don’t like the sound of that. 

“What?” I ask quietly, suddenly feeling scared he’s regretting all this. 

“Xavier and the others… maybe they won’t understand. You and me.”

Oh, thank God. I didn’t know I was holding my breath until now. 

“Some of them already know my feelings for you, and some of them know what happened between us. If they don’t approve, well, then they can kiss my sorry ass and we’ll move out.”

“They are your family.”

“No,” I tell him firmly, lifting my head so I can lock his eyes with mine. “*You* are my family. You are the most important person in my life.”

The way he looks at me takes my breath away. It’s… wow. Just… wow. Sexy and lusty and passionate and serious and… well, loving. The butterflies in my stomach are going crazy. 

His laid back demeanor is suddenly gone and I shiver. Oh, God. The passion in his eyes is something I’m not yet used to. I have to fight the urge to run away like a giggling kid. 

He turns us around so I’m on my back, and he tangles his hand in my hair at the nape of my neck. Tenderly but firm, he pulls my head back and whatever he wants, I’m so very okay with this. Closing my eyes and pulling him close, I wait for a kiss. Instead, his sharp teeth sink into the flushed skin of my neck. 

“Oohh,” I whimper, feeling instant arousal stirring deep inside of me. 

He gently licks over the bite mark. “I want you,” he growls in a deep, dark voice before kissing the mark again. I can feel his heart thumping wildly against my breasts. 

“Yes,” is all I can moan, feeling dizzy and feverish. I think I’m going to faint. 

His heated stare is now fixed on my mouth. “No. You’re sore and I’m not exactly balanced. I want it to be good for both of us.”

Whatever, sugar. I’m all yours. Right here, right - what? No? Did he say ‘no’?

Trying to fight my way out of his passionate spell, I blink. “But it’ll be good. It’s always good.”

He touches my face with a gentleness no one would expect from the Wolverine. “No. I want to, but I’m barely in control.”

That feral stare is in such contrast with his loving touch, I can’t help lose myself into those hypnotizing eyes. “Kiss me?”

He leans down and softly his mouth brushes over mine. My hand disappears into his thick, dark hair, and I kiss him back, a moan escaping my throat while I try to ease him between my legs. He doesn’t cooperate, but his tongue traces the outline of my lips. 

“Marie,” he groans, warm breath against my skin, “I mean it. Don’t let me hurt you.”

I love the power I have over him. “You won’t. Not really.”

He draws away. “No.” Shifting back, he closes his eyes. “I think we should wait until I’m more… sane.”

I sigh. 

Fine. Maybe he’s right. I really do feel a bit sore. 

Turning to my side, I watch him sulk. He’s so sexy when he’s irritated. 

“I have an idea,” I tell him. “Let’s go upstairs and spend the entire day just relaxing. We can hop in the tub, watch TV, order room service. Maybe we can take a nap later on. You know, just you and me.”

And maybe we can make out a little. Some touching, some kissing. He can’t expect me to keep my hands to myself now that he’s finally mine. And those lips--

“I know that look, darlin’,” he says, smirking, and he watches me in amused suspicion. 

Ugh. I should’ve known. 

Grinning happily, I shrug. “Oh, come on, Logan. You can’t blame me for trying. I feel like a six year old being left alone with a cookie jar. You can’t expect me to keep my cool here.”

“A cookie jar?”

“Yep. And you know what?” I lean in real close, my lips almost touching his. “I’m a cookie monster.”

“Come here, you gorgeous woman.” 

He cups the back of my head and kisses me hard, pulling me on top of him. I moan and suck his tongue deep into my mouth, but before I can curl my fingers around the waistband of his sweats, he ruffles my hair and tickles my side. 

“Oooow! That’s not fair!” I cry out, laughing and jerking away. 

He holds my arms locked in his solid embrace, so I can’t slap him like I was planning. “You asked for it.”

Trying to squirm my way out, I giggle. “I was *not*.”

“Yes, you were. Now stop wiggling or I’ll come in my pants.”

That makes me giggle even more. “And that’s bad why?”

Grinning, he says, “It’s sticky and it’s for pansies.”

“Don’t worry, sugar,” I whisper, nuzzling his hairy cheek. “I won’t tell.”

“In that case,” he growls playfully, grinding his hips against mine, “wiggle away.”

* * *

~13 months later~

I’ll never forget those days in Anchorage. Logan gave the words ‘making love’ a whole new meaning. We touched, kissed, and caressed each other for hours and hours. I don’t think there is a drug in this world that can make me experience the same pleasure Logan can give me. He explored my body pretty thoroughly, and, of course, I was a bit shy in the beginning, but he made sure that didn’t last very long. 

I never thought I could get over my initial fear of giving a man oral sex that soon, but the things he did to me where so amazing, I thought that if it would only feel half as good to him, it would be pretty damn worth shoving my trauma aside for. And God, having the power to make him moan and scream my name is something that still turns me on every time I just think about it. 

Of course, it wasn’t all blissful passion. We also talked a lot. We talked about our fears, our hopes, about Logan’s memories, about our future plans. Hours and hours we spend soaking in the tub, or in bed, always touching, always in each others arms. We laughed, we cried, we even fought, but it was something we both needed. I even got to wear my fancy dress to a magnificent restaurant, and Logan looked marvelous in his suit. I just couldn’t stop staring at him. It’s a good thing I’d bought matching lingerie to go with that dress. Hot night. Very. Hot. Night. 

By the time we headed back to New York, we were level-headed enough to face the inevitable prejudice and disapproval. We weren’t naive about our love. We knew there would be a lot of misunderstandings at first, but we hoped people would see that we truly loved each other and, in time, they would accept our feelings. Unfortunately, before we knew what’s going on, the Mansion was divided into three groups. One pro-us, one anti-us, and a group who simply didn’t give a damn because a) they hardly knew us, or b) they tried to stay neutral. 

It was so hard to see people judging Logan. If we didn’t love each other so deeply, I don’t think we could’ve made it, and I don’t ever want to relive those moments again. We both spent quite some time in the Danger Room to get rid of our frustrations, but after a few months, the anti-group realized he actually loves me in a way most people can only dream of. It’s entirely because of Logan’s patience we’re still living here. If it was up to me, we would’ve been gone after the first fight. 

We’ve been together for thirteen months now. Like I’ve said: it’s not always been easy, but we knew that from the beginning. We’re both quite explosive personalities. We make love with passion, but we fight with the same temperament as well. By now the entire house is used to our way of handling arguments, but at first, they thought we were going to kill each other. 

Well, they thought Logan was going to kill *me*, since everyone knows he’s a pretty tough one to tackle. Mostly we fight because we’re worried about each other though. Even our fights are actually acts of love. I can’t count the times Scott jumped between us, threatening to blast Logan if he’d come any closer, and of course, then Logan and Scott almost start killing each other. Jean and I often had to combine our feminine powers to distract them. 

It’s not easy to live with two alpha males in one house. Not even a house as big as the Mansion. I totally understand Logan’s urge to escape now and then. It’s a part of him I’ve accepted. He never stays away long though. Usually just a couple of days, and it’s always during holidays, so he doesn’t have to ask someone to take over his classes. He took the responsibility seriously when he accepted the job to teach self-defense, survival techniques, and hand to hand combat. Such contrast with my own contribution to this school. I just teach fun-stuff, nothing useful. Still, I guess we all need fun once in a while, right? I like my classes, and it seems the kids seem to enjoy it, too. 

Want to hear something funny? I’ve grown a lot closer to Jean these past months. She taught me a lot about the teaching-job, and she also knows what it’s like to be involved with a man who has ‘issues’. I never thought of Scott as such, but I know better now. The way he always wants to be in control, his protectiveness; in a way he’s a lot like Logan. Maybe that’s why their personalities don’t match well. They’re too much alike. They just choose a different way to deal with their problems. That’s probably because Logan was always alone, but Scott had the Professor to give him the shelter he needed at the lowest point of his life. I’m glad Scott still believes in things Logan gave up on. We need to have some balance between cynicism (Logan calls it realism) and hope (which he calls naivety). 

It also helps that Logan actually listens to Jean. She is still very dear to him, but I’m not afraid he’ll go after her. He treats her like family, and sometimes he flirts with her to annoy the hell out of Scott, but it’s all pretty innocent. I think Jean’s still attracted to him, but she loves Scott too much to actually act on those feelings. Which is something I try to remind her of every single time she and I talk. Better safe than sorry. 

As for my skin: Hank was right. After ten months and twenty-three days, I felt the familiar pull again. It was weak, but it was enough to make me freak out beyond reason. Unfortunately, or maybe thankfully, it was Logan who was holding my hand and I got a small dose of his healing, making my cells renew themselves even faster and speeding up the process. 

Days of lab visits followed, and I’m ashamed to admit I was acting like a total bitch to the man I love. I was so upset about our careless days being over, I’d rather didn’t want him around at all than within reach but untouchable. And so I tried to push him out of my life. 

Of course, I didn’t fool him just like that. He knew what I was doing, and he reassured me over and over again that nothing would ever change between us. He was wearing gloves all the time so he could touch me just the same, and he even tried to kiss me through a scarf but I flinched away from every form of affection, knowing how much I was hurting him by doing so. 

In my dejected and disillusioned state of mind, I thought I’d rather cut him loose now, because in the end, he’d grow tired of scarves, gloves, body stockings and condoms. He’d leave anyway. I wanted to deal with all the disappointment at once and get it over with. 

How I underestimated him. 

For weeks my life revolved around sulking in my own room and being Hank’s guinea pig in the lab. I hardly acknowledged Logan’s presence. He was always close, but he gave up trying to touch me after eight days. After two weeks, he stopped telling me how much he loved me, and after almost a month of trying to talk to me while I was doing my best to ignore him, he was gone. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that heart-broken. I honestly didn’t think I could make it through another day without him, and ironically, it was Scott, the leader of the original anti-group, who saved us both from self-destruction. 

One night, he burst into my room without knocking, and I’d never seen him so out of control. I hope I’ll never witness it again. For a moment, his rage resembled Logan’s on a very bad day. It was frightening to say the least. He gripped my shoulders and started to shake me so hard, I felt my head snap forward and back repeatedly. He yelled at me, trying to wake me up from my dazed numbness, and by the time I was aware enough to jerk away from his touch, he was level-headed again. 

I don’t know how long we’d been staring at each other, both in shock. I was totally flabbergasted by the way he was upset by my stupid behavior. I think by then the entire Mansion already tried to make me see what a stupid cow I was for hurting Logan, but it wasn’t until Scott’s outburst that I really woke up. 

Finally, after a very heavy silence, he said in his calm leader-voice, “I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, but Logan killed fifteen innocent people to keep you safe. Please, let it be worth the sacrifice.”

I snapped. I threw myself in his arms and cried until I started to gag and I actually threw up over his new Ralph Lauren polo shirt. I can’t look at the shirt now without feeling my cheeks redden from embarrassment. I was such a fool for thinking I was doing Logan a favor. He was in such a bad shape when Jean and Faye, respectively the leaders of the neutral and pro-us group, picked him up and, with his healing, that’s really something. 

It’s wonderful how our friends all worked together to close the gap between us. Suddenly we were the objectives of their mission, and I love them for their persistence. Without them, we would’ve been history and it would’ve been all my fault. Even though I sometimes feel like we all live in some mega production of a real life soap opera together, with Charles as our director, I’m so glad they were there for us. 

Scott wasn’t talking about the sacrifice of innocent lives only. He meant Logan’s sacrifice as well. Logan’s the one who has to deal with the memories, the nightmares, the knowledge he took God’s place and valued my life more than those of fifteen others. I was still untouchable back then, and he gave up what little humanity he had left and ended fifteen lives for an untouchable girl. If that’s not love, nothing is. It was another hard lesson for me to learn. 

I try to live my life to the fullest now, justifying those deaths. Make it worth it, just like Scott told me. Logan is still struggling to come to terms with his guilt, and I’m still struggling with the burden of making every second, every breath, every heartbeat count, but I think we’re doing pretty good overall.

I didn’t move in with Logan yet, but the door between our rooms is always open. I like to have my own space where I can hang out with my friends without bothering him. I mean, he’s still Logan, you know? He loves me, but that doesn’t mean he likes my friends. We sleep in his room almost every night, but sometimes he sends me to my own bed when he thinks he’s too restless. I know I have to take those warnings seriously and not whine about it. It’s gone wrong twice already. 

The first time I was still touchable and so he couldn’t heal me. I got away with just two shallow cuts in my arm, but it took me almost two weeks to convince him I was fine and that I *really* wanted to sleep in the same bed again. The second time was last month. When the claws popped out, he accidentally gave me a rather neat incision in my side. 

He wanted to heal me right away, but I refused of course. It wasn’t life threatening. He got angry and told me he’d touch me anyway, whether I wanted to cooperate or not. So there I was, bleeding and in pain, and he was still half pissed about the dream and overwhelmed with guilt. He threatened to use his strength against me, and I hissed I’d hate him if he did. Anyone who understands our relationship knows a fight like that is typically us. 

After a few attempts to reason with one another, I agreed eventually. He told me to hold on as long it would take to absorb all his memories as well, even though he knew it was going to be horrible. He wanted me to see what he’d done in the past, and also how much he loves me. It was the ultimate test to decide for myself whether his love was enough, and if I wanted to stay with him. I started crying, but teased him not to be such a drama queen. It made him laugh as well. 

I touched him and he healed me, and when he woke up four hours later, I was still there even though he expected me to be gone. 

I know everything about him now. Words can’t explain what he went through. I thought I’d be shocked, maybe even scared of him for a while, but my main feelings were anger and grief. 

I also know all the details of what Stryker did to him. Every gruesome one. It’s a miracle he’s still capable of caring in general, not to mention the intensity of his love for me. It’s honest and strong and desperate all at once. I’m his link to sanity. Another heavy burden to my shoulders, but I carry it with pride, because I love him just as much. 

When I realized Logan loves me with all my flaws, all my less charming traits, it dawned on me that there was still a part of him I hadn’t totally accepted. The saddest part was that he knew that all along. 

Every time we’d been making love, whether it was sweet and gentle, or hard and rough, he always made sure we faced each other. It was time to defeat that last demon, so I gathered my courage, and one night, I snuggled up in his arms and told him I wanted to know what it would feel like to have him behind me. After a long silence, he kissed me on top of my head and said, “From now on, you sleep in your own bed and wear your bodysuit during the day. Trust me.” 

And I did. 

For almost two weeks we didn’t make love at all. That was very unusual. Up until then, killer skin or not, we enjoyed our physical closeness almost every night. I can’t say that I don’t mind the protection we have to use, but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. The look in his eyes didn’t change even though we have to kiss through a scarf. His touch still brings me mind-blowing pleasure, gloved or not. So two weeks of celibacy was a strange, but exiting experience because he wasn’t ignoring me. On the contrary.

He touched me every time we were together. Pressed his body against mine when we passed, cast me hot, smoldering glances during social gatherings with the others. He was driving me up the walls with longing. With lust. 

I still have enhanced senses and healing, which, according to Hank, might be permanent, so a brush of his gloved fingers, a soft growl in my neck, smelling the lust in his scent was a passionate, sensual game of seduction, gradually replacing my fear of unwanted memories with a hunger for release.

When release finally came, two weeks ago, there was nothing on my mind but our yearning bodies, aching lust and consuming desire. I knew Logan could be rough, I knew his dominant side, but he never really combined those traits during sex. He sometimes held my hands pinned above my head, but he always made sure there was eye contact and his slow and deep thrusts were controlled and tender. The occasions were he was rough and feral, he never limited my movements. I always felt I had some level of control one way or the other. But not this time. 

I never expected him to sneak up behind me when I was washing the truck I considered ours. One moment the garage was filled with people, the next I was all by myself and bent over the hood, his weight bearing me down, covering me. I never had the time to be scared. He jerked my arms behind my back in an iron grip and spread my legs apart, slamming me almost painfully to the bumper of the car. His actions were rough, but his voice was velvet and deep when he told me again to trust him before grinding his pelvis against my butt. All I could think was, ‘finally’ and I surrendered to his overpowering strength. 

Still holding my wrists in one hand, he unzipped my jeans and shoved them down my thighs as far as they could go with my legs splayed apart. Those last few days I’d been walking around in a constant state of arousal and he knew it. It was like all my nerves were tingling, itching, craving for his touch, his presence. My skin hungrily tried to pull his energy through the thick air, through our clothes, like a magnet to his adamantium. It was excitement beyond reason, and I’ll be damned if his senses didn’t add extra flavor. 

Roughly yanking my head back by my hair, I felt his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of my ear. “Say you want me,” he demanded hoarsely, and one small part of me was shocked by his behavior. This was the side of him he despised, and even though I knew it was there, he never showed me that dominant, merciless animal while he was still rational. 

My initial shock was soon replaced by smugness and joy though. He finally felt confidant enough to give free reins to the usually tightly controlled beast always lurking underneath his human appearance. Knowing I had his full trust, pushed me into some sort primal state as well. 

“I love you and I want you,” I moaned breathlessly, anxiously waiting for him to end my agonizing lust. 

I’m almost too ashamed to admit, but when he unbuttoned his jeans and drove into me with such brutal force, I climaxed instantly. He didn’t wait for me to catch my breath, but just pumped into me, hard and ruthless, my hands still captured in one hand, the other pulling my hair. It made my breasts jounce against the hood of our truck, denting the car, and I loved every fucking minute of it. 

It didn’t take long for him to join me in blissful peace. A few more fierce thrusts and he came hard, uncontrollably trembling, gasping my name as his body jerked in aftershock of his unrestrained orgasm. 

That day we were finally done with the past. Done with hiding our fears for each other, afraid the darker sides of our personalities wouldn’t be accepted. This was who we were. It was who I’d become after touching him, and I accepted the beast inside of me just as much as I accepted it in him. It was the final closure of our painful history. 

By now, there isn’t a public place in this Mansion where we haven’t made love. Yes, I call it making love, because no matter how rough, how feral we sometimes can be, we always love each other. 

Even that afternoon in the garage. He was composed enough not to collapse on top of me. Instead, he released his grip on my wrists and used one hand to brace himself. The other, he wrapped around my waist in a possessive embrace. Between shallow, panting breaths, he’d said quietly, “This is me. All of me,” and I’d smiled despite the fact my throat clenched by the sound of his voice. The waiting despair was evident in the deep rumble. 

“Yes,” I whispered in a soothing tone, “and I love all of you.”

With trembling hands we tried to get dressed and hold each other at the same time. We also laughed when, between all the emotions, Logan looked around to get rid of the condom we’d used. I insisted he stuffed it in his pocket because I’d die from embarrassment if someone found the rubber in the garbage can. He smirked and tied a knot at the end before it disappeared into his jeans. 

Things like that define our relationship, I think. We’re passionate lovers and best friends, honest adults and playful kids. I’m so in love with him, it makes our friends roll their eyes and smirk, but in the end they all envy us. Especially now that Hank told us he might’ve found a solution for my skin. 

It’s all a bunch of scientific hoo-hah, but what it boils down to is with Logan’s healing, it won’t be dangerous to try the cure Stryker used on me. The potion will destroy my mutated skin cells only, and every time they renew themselves, chances are they are ‘normal’ instead of mutated. Or so he says. 

Logan couldn’t be more happy that the healing might be permanent, but we both know it comes with consequences as well. For one, I probably won’t age after my mid-twenties. I know that doesn’t all that bad, but knowing Logan and I are going to outlive everyone here in the Mansion makes me pretty sad sometimes. 

I try not to think about it too often, but sometimes I can’t help but look at my friends and try to imprint their presence in my heart. The thought they won’t be there one day is sometimes very difficult to deal with. Thankfully I can share those concerns with Logan. If things go right, he will be at my side every time we have to say goodbye to a loved one, and we can share out grief. 

Speaking of loved ones, I’m watching my boyfriend now. He’s here, next to me in bed while I’m brooding and recalling those past thirteen months. Seeing him so peaceful asleep sometimes still overwhelms me with awe, making me wonder why he’s still here with me. I know from his own memories he’s thinking the exact thing about me, and maybe that’s a good thing. We still don’t take our love for granted. We value it as something extraordinary and special. 

His gloved hand twitches, and I know he’s about to wake up. I wait patiently for him to turn my way and pull me in his arms. That’s what he always does. 

“You’re staring me awake again,” he groans, his mouth showing me a lazy smirk. 

“I know.”

Keeping his eyes closed, he reaches out for me and I happily snuggle up against his warm body. Nuzzling my hair, he rumbles, “Happy birthday, darlin’.”

Smiling, I close my eyes and inhale that sexy, warm scent that makes him my Logan. “Thanks.”

Yes, it’s my twentieth birthday today. Another year added as a piece of the bridge to overcome the age-gap between us. If Hank’s right, and I’m not going to look older than mid-twenties, there always will be a ten year difference, but at least that’s acceptable to most people. 

Logan tells me not to be bothered by what people outside the mansion think of us, but I can’t help it. I see them glaring at him with that suspicious look in their eyes and I hate it. Maybe, if we both look like adults, the frowns will stop and people will see us as equals. I’d really like that. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

I chuckle softly. He knows me so well. Every time I’m about to sink into melancholy, he asks me that question. I wonder if melancholy has a particular smell. I have to ask him one day. 

“Us. Our past and our future.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles huskily, “You should think about the present.”

I love his voice in the morning. It’s even more deep then usual. 

Rubbing my cheek against his thin, cotton shirt, I say, “You’re right.”

The present. We’re doing good. It’s not even close to the fantasy I once had, but I wouldn’t want our relationship to be any different. Sneaking into his truck was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life, even though he still represented some sort of a hero back then. 

‘I thought you might help me,’ I’d said after he discovered me, and in my childish imagination I really didn’t think there was a possibility this handsome, cursed prince was going to abandon me in the middle of nowhere. He was going to save me. 

Even though I know now my vision of the world was completely wrong back then, my instincts about Logan weren’t. He *did* save me after all. In more ways than one. 

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“You make me happy,” I tell him honestly. 

I can feel him swallow and he pulls me even closer. “Ditto, kid.”

The affectionate term makes me oddly emotional. To me, it’s a reminder of his promise to take care of me. It makes me feel like the kid I was back then, and when I’m snuggled up against him like I am now, it just makes me feel so safe. Cherished. Almost like we’re living a perfect life. I guess… God must’ve listened to my prayers more often than I thought. 

Okay, so the big man upstairs and I had some miscommunication again, because He totally misinterpreted the magical ending I longed for, but I can’t say He didn’t try. After all, despite our issues, Logan and I really *are* happy, and as for the ‘ever after,’ I guess God must’ve taken that part quite literally. Thanks to our mutations we’re probably going to live forever. Or at least a damn long time. 

So, are we now living the ‘happily ever after’ I wanted? 

Well, don’t forget this is not some fairytale or a silly romance novel. Logan and I are real people with real problems, but for now? I guess the only answer to that question is ‘yes’. 

Yes, we are.

* * *

The End :)


End file.
